


I Fall in the Dark (your love lights the way)

by izzie_chan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Keith (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Keith and Hunk bond, Keith is nocturnal, M/M, Major Character Injury, Making Out, Mild Gore, Near Death Experiences, Nostalgia, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Texan Keith (Voltron), actually everyone's nocturnal, everyone bonds!, it's basically two boys having heart-to-hearts at 2 am, keith draws, keith learns to be part of a family, light as a motif, space family bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-05 04:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzie_chan/pseuds/izzie_chan
Summary: Keith's life had always revolved around the stars; he was always lookingup, up, upat the mysteries hidden away within the splattering of bright pinpricks, those smears of transparent colors that made the sky so muchmorethan the empty blackness that you see in the cities would lead you to believe.Maybe, he was simply looking for his true home.Maybe, maybe, he finally found it.OR:Keith reluctantly learns how to be a part of a family, to love, and to be loved: featuring Lance and their nights of quiet insomnia, unpredictable diplomatic trips, birthday parties, and, of course, anxiety - falling for someone isn't easy.





	1. Absorption and Emission of Photons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is pretty; Keith has a fit.

 

#  **I Fall in the Dark _(your love lights the way)_**

##  **Part One:  
**

**_“Absorption and Emission of Photons: I’ve Got Stars in My Eyes”_ **

 

 

you showed me how to do

exactly what you do

how I fell in love with you

oh, it’s true

oh, I love you

 

* * *

Keith narrowed his eyes.

The mismatched tropical plants seemed to crowd over each other, fighting for air, space, and nutrients. Thick, green vines hung limply, covered in suffocating flowers, and pastel bulbs stretched out from inside bushes, straining towards whatever sunlight that they could capture from beneath the claustrophobic canopy.

There was little to no animal life, no cacophony of screaming birds like Keith would expect there to be in a jungle. Perhaps all the vegetation killed them off. You never knew in an alien world.

The sky was just as crowded. The sun was yellow-orange when they neared this moon, but the purple-hued sky made it look a weird, dusty tan, especially as it was currently in the process of setting. That didn’t even consider the _other_ , _smaller_ sun some degrees above it. Wasn’t one sun enough? And that enormous planet also looming over the horizon, with it’s bands of variegated colors, looked close enough to reach if you walked just beyond the curvature of the moon’s surface. Was it’s size just an illusion, like a harvest moon in the desert back on Earth?

Completely untrustworthy.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that bad. The flowers could objectively be seen as pretty, perhaps, and the huge resident plant population meant that the ecosystem was lively, untouched by death or destruction. And maybe that planet looked pretty cool. It’s just… Keith had never been one for humid climates – he much preferred the harsh aridity of West Texas to the moisture-laden air of more tropical areas.

“Keith, you’re staring at those trees like they’re out to murder you. Chill, they’re _plants_ ,”

Lance came up to where Keith was standing then, lazily throwing an arm around his shoulder. Keith fought down the urge to throw his arm off, convincing himself that Lance was not being _seriously_ condescending. Besides, his arm felt warm, but not uncomfortably so despite the weather. His jacket was really soft too – it’s odd that Keith had never noticed before.

Keith softly huffed anyway, crossing his arms and turning his head away from Lance, who was looking down at him with… maybe an amused smile? It was hard for Keith to tell these things sometimes.

“Well, I just… I never have liked the jungle,” Keith admitted. “Too many hiding places,” The flat planes of the desert meant an even playing field for you and your enemy.

“Keith has a point, Lance,” Hunk said, glancing up from what he was examining on the ground with Pidge. “You never know _what_ may be lurking in these woods,” he said, eyes comically wide. Was he mocking Keith?

“Yeah, there might be a _fern with carnivorous spores_ that are out for your blood!” Lance pitched in facetiously, making a claw shape with his free hand.

Yep, they were definitely mocking him.

Pidge rolled her eyes from her spot on the ground, saving Keith from having to attempt a retort. “Lance, obviously ferns don’t grow in tropical biomes – ”

Keith stifled a smile. Pidge was there to back him up – this was her way of defending him from Hunk and Lance’s shitty sense of humor. Sometimes Keith wondered if those two were joined at the brain or something, but he also knew that Lance and Hunk had known each other for a very long time. Was that sort of thing common among best friends? Their senses of humor… rub off on each other?

“Alright, alright,” Shiro interrupted the three, stepping off the castle’s ramp with some objects in his hand. “But, Keith, this _is_ supposed to be a relaxing planetary- er, moon visit. Don’t let your guard down too much, but you can still take some time to just…” he waved his hand around generically, grasping for the right word.

“Chill out?” Keith supplied, deadpan.

“Right,” Shiro nodded emphatically, ignorant of Keith’s distaste for the term. He sighed inaudibly as Shiro walked out a bit farther, evidently taking in the terrain.

“Yeah, Keith,” Lance agreed, removing his arm and throwing it behind his head, at perfect ease. As usual.

Keith frowned.

So, apparently, they were visiting this moon so that Coran would be able to take some ‘exceptionally unique’ quintessence samples that might be able to power the ship. If their data were right, they might be able to synthesize crystals made from _plant_ quintessence, rather than having to harness actual crystals for their quintessence. It would be much easier to obtain, and would be infinitely helpful in the long run.

Or something like that.

Keith kind of… tuned out when he gleaned that it would be a _scientific_ mission. And especially when Allura mentioned there was nothing the paladins could do except to ‘enjoy the unparalleled beauty of the moon’. He wanted to stay in the castle so he could do something of value, but _no_. Couldn’t do that. Had to ‘take a break’ and ‘rest your mind and body’ and ‘just do nothing for a second, weirdo’.

That last one had been Lance, of course.

“Do you have all of the equipment ready, Allura?” Coran was saying as they emerged from the castle, adjusting his absurd-looking, vaguely sand-colored shorts that ballooned out from his waist before tapering just above the ankle. He had certainly dressed for the occasion, but Keith didn’t really know what the occasion was. It wasn’t particularly hot, on account of the moon’s rotational speed – it’s days and nights were about 4 hours each, according to Pidge, so there wasn’t a lot of time for the surface to heat up.

“Coran!” Pidge said, jumping up from Hunk’s side when she looked up. “Are you _sure_ I can’t do anything? I would love to check out these high-quintessence plants – if this works this would be an incredible application of bio-technology – even for Earth… Hunk, this…” She veered off her verbal course, looking back at Hunk, who was mirroring her contemplative expression.

“Dude,” she said, eyes wide, “What if the quintessence could be used back on Earth? It could be the energy source –”

Hunk gasped dramatically, catching on quickly. “We’ve needed! How come I didn’t even think of that? We couldn’t reliably source crystals on Earth, but if we could grow quintessence plants? I just-” he squealed, and then Pidge and Hunk’s conversation dissolved into something that Keith had little interest in following. He shook his head slightly with fondness nonetheless. Just then, Allura, dressed in her everyday armor, piped up and received everyone’s attention.

“Sorry, paladins,” Allura was saying, partially in response to Pidge. “But these plants are exceptionally dangerous to… less durable human physiology – they’re quite violent, and almost border on animalistic tendencies,”

“See!” Keith quickly turned, throwing his hands out to where Lance was standing a few feet away. Lance looked at him, momentarily startled at Keith’s outburst but then crossing his arms haughtily. “What did I tell you?” Keith continued. “Jungles are not to be trusted!”

“Oh, most definitely,” Coran responded to Keith, interrupting Lance’s attempted retort. He placed his overstuffed bag down while dramatically buttoning his sleeves. “These buggers are a prickly bunch to handle for two Alteans, but for a weaker human – no offense – it would be simply disastrous. They might literally eat you alive, not unlike a Joruvian klynthese would,”

“But!” Coran continued cheerfully, picking up his bag again and reading off his scanner. “That’s precisely what makes their quintessence so potent! Princess, are you ready?”

Allura nodded, and then turned to the Paladins. “We’ll be on the comms if you need anything. But there are no other dangerous plants on this planet that we know of, so don’t worry _too_ much, Keith. Have fun you all!” She said, waving with that practiced diplomatic cheer.

“Don’t forget about those readings I want!” Pidge hollered to their retreating figures. Walking out of the clearing everyone was in, the two pushed their way through the growth until Keith could only detect them by the sound of footsteps. Then even that faded out, and Keith turned back to the others.

Pidge sighed, and then knelt back down next to Hunk. She muttered something to him, probably about what they were examining, which looked like some odd-colored soil. Her brow furrowed, she stuck some kind of… jabby device into it, then showed Hunk the results on her scanner. Hunk typed something on Pidge’s laptop, tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth.

Keith frowned. He’d been doing that frequently today.

“How come they can do something useful while I just have to stand here like an idiot?” Keith complained to Shiro, staunchly ignoring how he had Lance’s bitchy-ass whining down pat, complete with the hand-on-the-hips move.

From a few feet away, Shiro sighed in that resigned way of his. “Well, why don’t you see if they need any help?”

Keith blinked, then nodded. That was a good idea, of course. It was Shiro, after all.

“Yeah, okay,”

Keith watched as Shiro smiled and turned, walking to a nearby tree just at the edge of the clearing and sitting down with some book that he had been carrying earlier. Apparently, he had already scouted the tree, and was… actually probably relieved to not have deal with _something_ for just one minute. Keith wasn’t about to bother him any further, so he crossed his arms and idly toed the dirt with his boot.

Yeah, no paladin armor allowed, either, per Shiro, although they were allowed to keep their bayards on hand.

Keith made his way over to where Pidge and Hunk were intently studying… whatever it was they were studying. Dirt or something. He waited until there was a lull in their activity, then stepped closer in front of their hunched forms.

“Need any help?” He said, trying not to sound too desperate. Normally he wouldn’t be so eager to offer his services for something he really wasn’t qualified for, but… he was grasping at straws. He had never been good with sitting still, something he and Lance had in common.

Pidge kept her gaze focused on the clear tube she had produced.

“Yeah. Keep Lance _elsewhere_ , will you?” she grumbled as she scooped her sample in the tube with a tiny shovel.

In other words, _you_ stay away, too.

Keith nodded. He understood and could accept Pidge’s work habits. She had a one-track mind once she _really_ got into something, so the blatant brush-off wasn’t offensive in the least. He was actually surprised that she was working with Hunk at all, but he _did_ have superior knowledge of geology-related subjects, so he was useful to her – something that had been happening more frequently as of late.

“I’ll try my best,” he said, stepping away in some general direction that was _away_ from Pidge and Hunk. Glancing over to where Lance was, he noted that he was busy examining flowers or some shit, so there was little chance of his bothering them for the time being.

Of course, Keith himself didn’t have that unique ability to be entertained by something as simple as the tick of a metronome, so he was standing around doing nothing, sticking out like a mountain on a flat horizon.

He sighed. Maybe Shiro had a point – Keith learned the hard way that Shiro was generally right about things, so he decided to mimic their leader. He went over to a small nook, where a reddish, knobby tree with white blooms hung low and blocked a majority of the fading sunlight, and sat down in a V created by two prominent roots. Resting his elbows on his knees, he glanced up at the sky. If he squinted hard enough, he could actually see the sky darkening by the minute, becoming less purple and more dark blue. He sighed deeply, trying to clear his mind and just… relax. Just relax.

The word sounded foreign. He absently picked at his cuticle, shifted his weight, and then started at the picking again. Then he tried focusing on the cooling breeze, the fragrance of the air, the soft laughter of Hunk from twenty feet away. He was, for the most part, successful at keeping whatever thoughts were lurking deep within his brain from surfacing – something he frequently failed to do in those few moments before sleep came.

After a few minutes, he glanced over to where Pidge and Hunk were, out of habit. They had actually abandoned their project, the laptop closed and their devices scattered, and as Keith looked he realized they were studying a bramble of those weird flowered vines he had been scrutinizing just fifteen minutes earlier. Lance was to their right, trying to… climb a tree? But he seemed to be almost glowing, like there was a source of light from inside the tree, even though it was almost dark. Hunk looked up at him, too, telling him to _be careful dude_. Of course. Hunk was always looking out for everyone, but especially Lance, and for good reason. Lance had a penchant for getting into trouble, but better climbing _up_ a tree than getting chained to it.

“Hey, Keith!” Lance yelled, waving his arm to grab his attention. He had a grin on his face, looking every bit like he was perfectly at home standing atop a branch fifteen feet in the air. Hell, he was probably at home _anywhere_. Lance, from what Keith had seen, was the quintessential people-person, the kind of guy who was completely comfortable in almost any situation, social or otherwise. He really lived up to his element’s properties: infinitely adaptable, open, and accepting.

Keith had never really envied anyone, never cared to devote the energy to doing so, but he figured he could do well to practice Lance’s social-chameleon abilities. He couldn’t count on his fingertips the number of times he royally screwed up some important diplomatic event by being ‘standoffish’ or ‘brusque’ towards an emissary. Allura’s words, not his.

“Uh - What?” Keith yelled back, remembering a response was generally required in this situation.

“Y’wanna- _shit_ -” Lance suddenly lost his grasp of the limb above him before quickly grabbing hold of the trunk.

“What did I tell you?” Hunk said, even though his back was turned.

“Y’wanna see who can climb the highest?” Lance called out, ignoring Hunk’s forbearing grumbles. Keith couldn’t see Lance’s expression from this distance, but it probably consisted of his standard-issue cocky grin.

“What are you, twelve?” Keith snarked in lieu of a true response, actually somewhat invested in his pseudo-meditation and unimpressed with Lance’s attempt at challenging him. Lance threw his arm in the air, a silent _what does it take_ gesture that almost made Keith get up out of his spot. Almost.

As he turned his head to the sky again, Keith blinked, realizing it had actually gotten lighter, from maybe a dark blue to a… less dark blue. Keith wasn’t exceptionally knowledgeable about the various shades of colors. He looked around the area again, and quirked an eyebrow.

Almost all the plants were glowing. The flowers of the tree Keith was under were glowing a bright white; the bushes and bulbs and petals and even some leaves were shining with various colors – bright light blues and pinks and greens. It cast strange, ethereal shadows on the grass, where tiny white insects that Keith hadn’t registered in the daylight were hopping about between the blades that grew up around his boot. Those vines that Hunk and Pidge were examining also seemed to glow, turning their bodies into silhouettes, like people in front of a static-y TV in a darkened room.

Keith looked over to Shiro, where he also seemed in slight awe over how nice it all looked. Shiro glanced back at him, and even from this distance, Keith could see his slight smile before he turned back to his book.

The planet must be _covered_ in these bright plants – it would explain the change in sky color. It also explained Allura’s insistence on ‘enjoying the beauty’ or whatever she had said.

“What the hell?” Pidge yelled, loud enough for Keith to hear her distinctly. She was shaking her head emphatically, already in some one-sided argument with Hunk.

“Oh, sure, it makes _perfect_ sense,” she griped facetiously. “Hunk, what’s the point of having _everything_ all lit up? If _everything’s_ bioluminescent, why should _anything_ be? It serves no biological purpose!” Hunk silently put his palms out in that universal gesture of acquiescence, not wanting to get in the way of Pidge’s warpath. Keith could understand.

He glanced up at Lance one last time, and saw the other boy determinedly making his way up the tree solo.

Keith returned to his examination of the sky – it was the most interesting thing around. The sky was too bright, however, for Keith to see even a hint of the billions of stars he personally knew where out there. Was it because of the light emanating from the forest? It certainly was bright down here. It was as if the glow from the moon’s surface replaced the glow from the cosmos.

Keith leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. No stars…

Back in West Texas, there wasn’t another soul in any direction for fifty miles, let alone any amount of light pollution. The mélange of the Milky Way stretched without end across the sky, yellows and blacks and purples that flowed into each other and glowed magnificently. And Keith would just lay on the ground, or on the battered roof of the house, and just stare, stare, stare, fascinated at the mysteries hidden away within the splattering of pinpricks, the smears of transparent colors that made the sky so much _more_ than the empty blackness that you see in the cities would lead you to believe.

If Keith strained his memory, he could remember a few instances when his father would pull out his huge, handmade Dobsonian, built from plywood and schematics pulled off the internet, out from under a dusty tarp within their ramshackle shed. To Keith, always the smallest in class for the longest time, it was so tall, almost as if it could physically touch the stars. And in a way, it could. It was a portal that could almost physically pull you with it, transport you to as far as it could see.

He would stand on the rickety metal stepladder to look through it, at all the craters in the moon, at the farthest of the solar system’s planets, at the fuzzy, deep sky objects that seemed so natural in their places and yet still completely inscrutable. Keith had had no idea what was out there. Back then, the objects had all the realism of paper cutouts, pinned on the ceiling for his viewing pleasure. Now, there were alien peoples, and all of his experiences, pains, and struggles indelibly attached to those cutouts, rendering them horrifically, beautifully real.

Truly, Keith’s life had always revolved around the stars, his _place_ was among the stars, and he could only hope he would die there. It would be fitting.

Keith opened his eyes and looked back at the others. Lance was quickly scrabbling down the tree, carrying twisted bunches of multi-colored, gleaming flowers. From this distance, it was hard to make out the shapes, but some looked like roses, daisies, lilies, others.

Lance circled around, laughing, and showed Pidge and Hunk what he had gathered. He had Hunk kneel on the ground so he could weave some through his dark hair, the light casting interesting shapes on Hunk’s face. Hunk was giggling, trying to see what the blooms looked like scattered atop his head, when without warning Lance jumped up and slipped a flower with a particularly long stem through Pidge’s hair.

Pidge gave him a half-hearted side eye when Hunk cooed, but grudgingly accepted the gift with a ‘thanks’ – although Keith was reading her lips, so it could’ve been anything. Lance just beamed softly, which was a really weird look on his face. Then Lance turned and cordially presented his head towards Hunk, trading the flowers over to him.

Keith absent-mindedly glanced away, then shifted in his place, crossing his legs and supporting his weight on his hands. The shadowed grass was soft on his fingertips, and the night had gotten much cooler. The claustrophobic nature of their little jungle had gotten less stifling, especially with the gentle lighting and sweet scent, and he almost felt at ease.

Some of that ease, though, was attributed to having watch the others enjoying themselves. That was another reason Keith felt like he belonged in space –all of his friends were there: Shiro, Pidge, Hunk… even Allura and Coran. Keith wasn’t normally sentimental, but when you had never had a family, never had friends, these people were… Keith shook his head, his bangs falling in front of his face, trying to physically derail that train of thought. It was too early for that sort of thinking. And too late. It was literally never a good time to think about things like that, sentimental, emotional thoughts that made him feel dangerous things.

But still…

“KEITH!”

Keith rapidly glanced up at the shrill sound of his name cutting through the silence, and saw Lance jogging towards him, his sneakers barely making imprints in the soft earth. Was something wrong? What was he doing over here? He was with their friends just a few moments prior.

Lance dropped down on his knees in front of Keith, smiling brightly. Okay, so there wasn’t anything wrong. The tension left Keith’s body, and he leant back against the tree, partially to put at least a little space between Lance and him. That boy had no concept of personal space whatsoever, as evidenced by the minimal distance between their faces.

Keith gave Lance a flat questioning look, figuring speech wasn’t necessary when he was bound to get a clarification no matter what. Lance settled in comfortably, their knees touching. He seemed perfectly content, the weight of all his responsibilities temporarily lifted off his shoulders.

“You didn’t think I was gonna leave you out, did you?” Lance said, softly, and Keith didn’t respond. He… honestly did think that. He wouldn’t have thought twice if Lance had never even glanced in Keith’s general direction. “Well, yeah, I mean…” Keith whispered, very intelligently so, at that.

All Keith did was keep looking into his really, _really_ blue eyes, taking in the complete lack of that cockiness that’s perpetually present on Lance’s face (and never in his heart). As what Keith said sunk in, Lance gave Keith a kind glance that was similar to the look he had given Pidge earlier, perhaps fondness, but different somehow. And…

Keith blinked, jaw probably slack, because, because…

Lance’s face was directly in front of his, small, diverse blossoms threaded throughout his hair. The softly cool glow of the white petals that contrasted with his brown hair lit up his face, casting shadows that painted his cheekbones into sharp relief. Were they always that high? Was his chin always so pointed? His angular features made the softness in his smile and eyes all the more apparent.

And his eyes, the ones searching Keith’s face, were still _really, really_ blue, but they became richer and deeper from the ambient bio-nightlights that surrounded them. A small petal that had fallen onto his cheek illuminated the smattering of tiny pinprick freckles that covered the bridge of his nose. Keith dimly thought of the multitude of tiny stars in the Texas sky, the stars that looked like they were scattered by the flick of a paintbrush.

Lance’s eyebrows were quirked high on his forehead, below his messy bangs, eyes widened and lips parted just so, giving him an innocent expression – an expression Keith knew was reflective of how Lance truly was on the inside, despite his cocky exterior. “Keith, c’mon,” Lance said, voice like laughter. “Don’t look so panicky, your… pupils? Yeah, they’re like pinpricks right now. They’re just flowers! I’m makin’ everyone pretty tonight, and Shiro’s neee-eext,“

And then he reached out, tucking a single probably-a-tulip in Keith’s hair. His jacket was off, discarded who knows where, the curve of his wrist leaving a trail of warmth where it brushed Keith’s cheek. Keith could feel the heat, and in all probability, redness, racing across the bridge of his nose.

Keith made a choked squeaking noise, a sound he hadn’t previously imagined could come out of his own mouth. His heart was racing in a way that was completely distinct from battle-adrenaline or nightmare induced palpitations.

Lance’s voice became higher pitched. “Dude, are you okay? What happened?” Lance’s eyes were wide as he drew his hand back, and Keith could’ve sworn they were sparkling. And with a background of glowing trees and flowers and a beautifully alien sky, Keith was silenced by the picture Lance unintentionally painted. He forcefully shut his eyes, diggings his fingers into the soil, trying to clear his mind of the tangled mess of disjointed thoughts racing through it. What was happening? What was _happening_?

“You guys alright over there?”

Keith opened his eyes at Shiro’s voice. Hunk and Pidge were also peering over from their position, no doubt wondering what the commotion was about. Keith couldn’t possibly give any of them an explanation, although Lance in particular most certainly deserved one.

“Lance, what happened?” Hunk was calling out after a few moments, concern evident in his voice. There was a beat of silence as Lance leaned back, evaluating Keith’s expression with a scrutinizing look.

“I… I think I broke Keith,” was the incredulous response.

No argument was provided.

* * *

Alright, so.

Keith had never been one for dramatics; communication should have some semblance of directness wherever possible, hardships should be taken with limited complaints – it makes life far simpler for yourself and others.

With that in mind, Keith could most certainly admit when he was in the wrong, when he has made a mistake, or when he was simply a goddamn idiot. But what had happened earlier was an aberration of ridiculous proportions.

The only explanation that sprang to Keith’s mind for this decidedly inexplicable occurrence would be that Lance’s overly dramatic disposition happened to rub off on Keith for a few moments. It made sense that, after having lived, worked, and fought in close quarters with this boy for upwards of A Very Long Time, they would begin sharing mannerisms to some extent.

Hell, even Pidge seemed to have received Lance’s gift for theatrics: she was incensed over the _number of bioluminescent plants_ , wasn’t she? And Pidge was known for being no-nonsense; she worked hard, was exceedingly intelligent and quick-witted, and had drive like no one else – it’s partially why Shiro liked her so much.

So that’s that.

On that front, that is, the front of Keith’s Overreaction of Biblical Proportions, there wasn’t anything to be exceptionally concerned about.

However.

There was that _very_ small, almost-inconsequential-yet-not-so-inconsequential-as-to-not-merit-some amount-of-internal-discourse Important Matter that begged at least some form of consideration from Keith:

The _reason_ for this overreaction.

Keith, a boy of not even eighteen (though it felt like he had been alive for thirty), came to the realization in that cursed jungle clearing that he was, by all accounts, physically attracted to Lance.

Which was fine. Like he said, almost inconsequential.

He _was seventeen_ , with all the hormonal trappings associated with life at that age _;_ that he _had_ liked boys, for as long as he could remember; that he had lived with Lance, who was actually sometimes successful with the objects of his flirtations (but never knew exactly _what_ to do when he actually didn’t strike out for once), which in turn led to the unavoidable fact that Lance was, objectively speaking, an attractive individual, at least to some people.

And, when Keith came to think of it, he honestly understood why he never noticed Lance’s attractiveness before. He mostly focused on people’s looks in a strictly utilitarian sense, that is to say, he’d take in one’s appearance to determine with some amount of accuracy whether they’d be trouble or not.

All throughout his life, or at least, in his adolescent years, Keith didn’t have much time or inclination to go after whomever struck his fancy (an exceptionally rare occurrence at that). He had been busy. Busy at the Garrison, focused on being ‘the best’ pilot he could be, busy studying for whatever tests they gave him to do poorly on, busy reaching _up up up_ in hopes of touching those goddamn stars that always seemed just barely within reach.

But once he found himself among them, after the rush of being thrown into an interstellar war and training and prepping had worn off, day to day life became routine enough to slow down, many days _too_ much. Life in space…life in space was boring. The sensationalist posters had lied.

So, life for Keith, despite all his protestations, had slowed down enough where he could take a look around once in a while, to _really take in_ what, and who, he found himself surrounded by. And then there was that whole thing with living with six other people and becoming closer to them than literally _anyone_ else that he had ever, or will have ever, been around.

But that wasn’t something Keith dwelled upon too much.

So the Overreaction of Biblical Proportions effectively summed up to this – Lance’s stupid habits rubbed off on Keith; Lance’s stupid face did, too. It just took the right lighting, he supposed, to make Keith _really_ realize the extent of Lance’s good looks. That’s not to say that he would ever speak even a _hint_ of a whisper about this to Lance – purely for Lance’s benefit, as Keith didn’t think that the modern Narcissus’ extraordinary vanity could handle such clear validation. Keith had no intention of fanning the flames of Lance’s egotism.

So that’s that.

Of course, it was still quite the horse pill, but not as much as it would have been, say, six months prior. Because, for all Keith and Lance’s petty arguments, which Keith had half the mind to pin down on simple boredom, they actually had been getting along stunningly. Time and experience had quickly worn Lance’s down annoying, pointless competitiveness to something more acceptable, and he had never really been a _true_ asshole at any point. Keith, conversely, was getting his ‘rough edges’ ‘smoothed out’ by ‘team life’. Once again, Allura was savage (maybe even as much as Pidge was), even by Keith’s standards. At least Keith accepted his faults and worked on them, so he wasn’t the target of Allura very often.

Bearing all this in mind, Keith wasn’t concerned in the least. Nothing would change; this was _not_ going to be a distraction, or a cause for concern by anyone. Just a private thought or two that Keith happened to have regarding the famous Blue Paladin. And, once again, it was _just the lighting_. Once he saw the famed Blue Paladin snoring on the couch, or in a decidedly unflattering position while making a cramped sniper shot from a long distance, it would be back to the same old Lance.

So, after totally-not-awkwardly speed walking back to the castle as soon as it was acceptable to do so, he worked up a mind-clearing sweat on the training deck. It was the only place Keith could really _think clearly_ – where he wasn’t running on pure, tunnel-vision instinct on the battlefield, maneuvering the perils of social interactions, or wandering down the halls of the castle at night, where there is not a soul out there whose thoughts could be perfectly lucid and logical in that uncannily cold environment.

The deck was where he was awake, isolated, and could let his body do the thinking in a safe environment while his mind was free to ponder whatever it was that it cared to, which, tonight, was How In The Hell Did _This_ Happen?, the shitshow he considered earlier. And currently, as he was flicking sweat off of the bridge of his nose, the gladiator having been dispatched not without significant effort on Keith’s part, he was feeling pretty good about the whole ordeal, or at least as much as he could be given the situation.

His breathing having evened itself out after the workout, Keith righted himself from his stooped position, retracting his bayard sans flourish. He then called for the lights to be shut off, since he would undoubtedly be the last person to utilize the deck, and made his way out the door and towards the Altean equivalent of a locker room.

Workout, showers, and then lights out – the holy trinity that made up Keith’s choice bedtime routine.

A most excellent bookend to a most horrific day.

* * *

A few days passed. Keith successfully dodged any prodding questions about what, precisely, had happened on the moon. Lance, surprisingly, didn’t ask but once, seeming to specifically avoid prying. Pidge, of course, knew immediately when Keith didn’t want to talk about something, so kept any worries she had to herself. So, on the whole, things were fine.

This particular morning started out particularly mundane, everything that Keith could have desired after the events on the moon. However, Keith had always known to hope for the best – a tiring pursuit that only became harder with time – while expecting and preparing for the worst. So, he was wary, but not incredibly so. At least at that time he was still running under the impression that yes, goddammit, _it_ was just caused the lighting. So he had chilled out about _it_.

That was what Shiro wanted, right? For Keith to chill out?

Shiro was always right.

So, he did. Chill out, that is. He got out of bed before everyone except Allura, as he always had, and decided to head to the kitchen. Now, normally he wouldn’t; he would wait for everyone else to get up (when there wasn’t a drill) and amble into the kitchen, so that they could eat breakfast and plan the day’s strategies. It’s how it always had been, almost like a family tradition.

Today, however, he had gotten up _especially_ early on account of his premature turn-in the previous night; normally he was _not_ asleep so soon, so, naturally, this day he would rise in proportion. Keith had never been good at sleeping. He figured he might as well get a head start on the day.

As Keith rounded the hallway outside the bridge, his eyes were forced to quickly adjust the sunlight –an extraordinary rarity in the vast sectors of nothingness that populated space –that was beaming through the view screen. He realized they were still in the system of that unnamed moon, so the sun happened to be relatively close, which accounted for the startling morning light. He looked out, suddenly feeling wistful.

He closed his eyes and let the vaguely warm light illuminate the blood vessels in his eyelids. It reminded him of waking up to dusty streams of yellow light in the house, of immense, vivid purple and orange skies with streaky clouds, of cool, fresh breezes laced with the scents of unnamed flowers, of morning skies not quite as beautiful as the nights. Of line-dried thin cotton sheets and heavy denim jeans heated into stiffness by the harsh ultraviolet, of the distant mountains cut into sharp relief by the rising dawn, of grayed wooden floors that dearly needed sweeping.

But that was all gone now.

And what was _that_ , even? All that was left of those years past was the rose-tinted memories that still burrowed themselves stubbornly in Keith’s mind. While they _were_ memories, they had been distorted beyond recognition by naïve sentimentality that Keith, unfortunately, still harbored within him. They carried no factuality, no realism because the implication of fond memories was that the holder of them was content while living through them.

Keith hadn’t been.

What those memories conveniently ignored was how out of place Keith had felt – simple happiness was foreign to him. He consistently felt out of place, off-balance in a world that required you to fit in the mold. So Keith was looking up, looking up, always looking up at those stars, those shining promises of something _better_ , because there was nothing to look around at from where he stood. So he pinned all his hopes and dreams on them, each of them, the light of each and every star that had traveled millions of light years just to visit him.

Keith opened his eyes quickly, fixing his face. Fuck, that train of thought was achieving nothing – why was he being so nostalgic lately, anyway? He had no clue what was triggering this frame of mind. He frowned and continued the short trek to the kitchen, where he was going to grab a quick bite of food goo before heading to the deck to get in his morning pre-training workout. The halls were silent, as was usual around this time, but were warm to mimic the temperature fluctuations of the body during it’s circadian rhythm. This system was supposed to slowly increase along with your body temperature as the night progressed, which helped you to be less groggy when you first got up in the morning.

Although Keith always felt immediately alert when he woke, he somehow doubted it was on account of the regulation – it took Pidge forever to wake up in the morning, which she blamed on lack of coffee rather than her habit of staying up so late that she could only squeeze in a few hours of sleep each night. And of course, Lance was in a deeply committed spiritual relationship with his mattress, and had separation anxiety if parted for too long.

“…okay, sure thing, Hunk,”

Speak of the devil. What the hell was the narcoleptic doing up at this ungodly hour?

Keith paused and realized the voice was coming from down the hall… in the kitchen. Of course. Just his luck. He considered skipping eating and just passing by; it was too early to be sociable, and Keith was honestly just a bit wary about Lance ever since that day on the moon. He was still _chill_ about it, but he couldn’t help the nervousness. However, he _was_ genuinely curious as to what they were doing up so early. He figured he could maybe just grab a glass of water and then book it.

Lance looked up first as Keith rounded the corner to enter. He and Hunk were hovering over some small, empty silver bags laid out on the countertop, and Hunk had a strange, oven-like contraption that he was hunched over and fiddling with. There were piles of strange-looking fruit to Hunk’s right. Where did they even get those?

“Hey, man!” Lance beamed, all upbeat cheeriness and huge grins. Hunk glanced up then, too, straightening with a wave.

“Hey,” Keith returned, awkwardly standing at the doorjamb. He tried again. “What are you guys doing?”

“Well,” Hunk started, gesturing with a flat-blade screwdriver. “I don’t know if you saw, but on the way back from the quintessence plant area Allura picked up a bunch of this really awesome fruit from near where we had landed the castle,” He leaned down again, tightening some screws on the squat machine that reminded Keith of a toaster oven. “And Pidge, just out of curiosity, scanned them after examining the quintessence plants, which, by the way, are gonna work great,”

“Yeah!” Lance chimed in, hopping up on the counter and letting his legs freely dangle. “Coran’s pumped,”

Keith knew one of Hunk’s long stories when he heard one, so he walked over to the sink, grabbing a clear glass and filling it with water. He turned, leaning against the counter opposite Lance and settling in.

“Well, anyway,” Hunk said, without even having looked at Keith for how intently he was fidgeting with the toaster oven, “Turns out these are just _loaded_ with quintessence, just like the plants are. It must be like, the moon’s soil? Or something?” Hunk turned to give Lance a questioning look, but Lance just shrugged, as if to say _‘why you lookin’ at me?’._ Hunk shook his head slightly, probably at the foolishness of his asking Lance for scientific information. He may as well have asked Keith.

“So, yeah,” Lance cut in. “They’re just loaded with energy that people can use, too, almost like being super calorie dense. So, we’re gonna dry em’ out and make survival rations,”

“Hm,” Keith said noncommittally, taking a sip of the water. He supposed the machine was a dehydrator, then.

“And I don’t know about you all,” Hunk said, turning around and holding up a purpleish, spiky not-pear, “But I seriously wish we didn’t have to. We may never get to eat them! I said they were delicious, and I meant it – I really miss fruit with breakfast,”

“Oh my god, I know right? I feel the loss of mangoes in the morning the hardest. It’s tragic,” Lance said, hand on his face in exaggerated horror. Hunk nodded sagely and Keith almost had to stifle a laugh – who could get so worked up over food? It was consistently the last thing on Keith’s mind, but he knew Hunk and Lance to clear out an alien buffet in no time. He glanced at Lance’s gently swinging legs, idly wondering how Lance could maintain his rangy form with his appetite. Surely, he couldn’t still be growing? No, they were too old for that.

“But, wait, picture this,” Hunk said, completely distracted from his task, screwdriver in one hand and not-pear in the other. “Mango salsa with chicken, just a hint of cilantro…” he said, closing his eyes to better visualize his dish.

“Or my mom’s _vaca frita_ ,” Lance dreamily said, before looking in front of him at Keith. “What about you, Keith? What do you miss most?”

Keith blinked. Lance had worded the question as if it were a given that Keith had some favorite food, but he wasn’t really particularly fond of any dish; as he said, food was never something he thought about, let alone daydreamed of.

“Uh, I guess I don’t really have a favorite? I pretty much only eat because I have to.”

Lance blinked at him uncomprehendingly. Hunk looked personally affronted, his hand on his chest.

“C’mon, man, you gotta have _something_ ,” Lance said, as if Keith casually mentioned he didn’t have a navel, or lived without a kidney.

Keith was about to shake his head, but then…

It had been a few days after Keith had been kicked out of the Garrison, that terrible time when he was aimless, completely alone, completely lost. He had his shack set up perfectly fine by then, was able to stay warm in the frigid, windy desert nights within the confines of the old, barren wood. Unfortunately, warmth hadn’t helped the intense gnawing in his stomach; as always, food hadn’t been a priority and Keith was made to suffer for it. In that long, lonesome night, all Keith had to focus on was the sudden emptiness in his life, the threadbare blanket wrapped around him, the ghosts swirling in the depths of his mind. The growling of his stomach served as an excellent distraction, grounding him even in the quietude and solemnity of the desert nights.

That sensation that neared pain anchored him, protecting him from those horrible ghosts. Instead, he could think of those mediocre Garrison lunches in the rigid metal trays, those lunches that, in his sorry state, he found a new appreciation for. He thought of warm peas and carrots in their little compartment, of highly processed and distinctly unappetizing generic proteins.

“Well…” Keith started slowly. He didn’t want to… alienate them, since they were already looking at him like he was a different person. They weren’t this worried when they found out that he was part Galra. “I know for sure I don’t like meat that much?” Keith tried.

Lance had twenty different emotions flashing on his face. Hunk, on the other hand, looked like he was about to cry.

Perhaps, in some small way, this was the absolute wrong thing to say.

Keith downed his glass of water, deciding right then and there that it would only be in his best interest to hightail it.

“I’m gonna… go,” Keith said to no one in particular, turning to put the glass in the silver (to match the castle’s décor, at Allura’s behest) alien dishwasher that they picked up from some space department store. They had all thought it to be too big when they inspected it at the store, but Lance had squatted down level with it, eyed it for a second, then said with all the confidence in the world that it would fit between the fridge and the counter. It did.

“What! No!” Lance whined, leaping off the counter with a thud. He stepped around Hunk, then leaned onto the countertop next to Keith, his forearms parallel with each other. Keith looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry, dude, we’re not gonna ostracize you for being vegetarian,”

“Ostracize? Big word,” Keith snarked.

“I read!” Lance protested, his pitch rising along with his posture.

“Besides, Keith never said he was totally vegetarian,” Hunk supplied helpfully from behind them, apparently over his episode.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, straightening and turning to mirror Lance. He wasn’t vegetarian; you really couldn’t be in the Texan households Keith grew up in. Meals typically had meat as the focal point, which is why Keith loved his packed elementary school lunches; they were often sandwiches, and so he could throw away the meat and just eat the thin brown bread. Maybe he would’ve grown a bit taller if he hadn’t avoided his protein, but it was a fair tradeoff in his book. Not to mention the military-subsidized white bread from the Garrison that Keith had learned to tolerate.

“I guess…” Keith started. “I guess bread’s okay,”

He figured that wasn’t a lie; bread was very inoffensive and filling, so it was great for when you just wanted to eat something quickly to avoid hunger.

Lance nodded at this, taking it in, but Hunk had a goddamn fit.

“Oh, my god, Keith, that’s genius. There are so many different types of bread out there, and they’re _all so good_! Irish soda bread, banana nut… Oh man, my mom’s homemade bread is just-” he didn’t finish his statement, instead making a soft, choked noise and quasi-pained gestures that probably meant something to someone.

Lance looked at him, unimpressed, but Keith smiled just a bit, happy his choice was validated. Hunk would know what good food is.

“Well,” Lance said after a beat, smiling at Keith in that peculiar way of his, “That does seem like a good choice, I guess. Oh, hey, here,” Lance said with a start. He reached over to grab a not-banana (it was curled way too much to be an Earth banana, not to mention the gray-green color of the peel), then pushed it into Keith hands. Keith looked down at it, then back up at Lance.

“I’m guessing you’re heading to the training deck?” He said with a tone that Keith wasn’t sure meant he expected Keith to go and didn’t care, or that he was generically discontent. Keith nodded halfway.

“Then you’ll need to get some food in you,” he said, watching Keith, “whether you like it or not. Water won’t keep you running,”

This seemed more like something Hunk would do.

Keith didn’t know what to say, something that had been happening a worrisome amount lately, except a simple _thanks_. Then he backed up slightly, still watching Lance’s expression, until he turned to head out the door. As he was walking, he heard Hunk laugh.

“Dude, you’re really not one to talk, I’ve known you to go without eating a day before a date just to lose some water weight,”

“Oh my God, Hunk, shut it!” Lance hissed, the embarrassment in the tone obvious even to Keith. He chuckled, then paused for a second just around the corner. He glanced at the fruit in his hand, then looked up towards the long hallway that led to the deck. For some reason it seemed desolate, maybe even cold despite the elevated temperature.

And as he heard Lance’s laughter from behind him, he thought that he may not want to go. The feeling confused him, but not so much that he didn’t find himself turning around and poking his head into the kitchen. Not too far, but close enough to gauge their reactions. Next to a chuckling Hunk he saw… he saw Lance still laughing loudly at _something_ , his grin stretched across his face, sparkling tears shining in the early morning sun-like lights. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were red, giving him a lively appearance, and he was bent double, his thin hand clutching his stomach. He was the image of perfect, unrestrained mirth in the soft yellow light, and it was probably over the dumbest thing in the world, like a pun or something.

“Do you need some help or anything?”

The words flew out of Keith’s mouth unbidden, even as he was making a move to retreat, even as his mind buzzed over nothing, over everything. It was so sudden, but… he felt so purely _affected_ by the sight of Lance’s joy, felt like his heart was a bit lighter to see just one person in this hellish universe so clear of any sadness or doubt, if only for one second. Even if it may have only been a brief reprieve for that person from their crippling doubts and fears.

It was so, so selfish, but he wanted to see more of it. It made him feel at ease, or that, just maybe, this universe was worth saving after all, even if that line of reasoning was completely antithetical to their mission. It responded to the question of: Was it okay to fight _just_ for the ones you have come to know as the _only_ people you truly cared about in the whole galaxy? Keith had other reasons, other self-serving motivations for fighting so hard in the war. But his friends were first on that list.

And as he looked up at Lance, not so much seeing as _feeling_ the content, appreciative look he was giving Keith, Keith knew what the answer to his question was.

* * *

Okay…

So…

Maybe it _wasn’t_ just the lighting.

Maybe.

* * *

Keith pushed around the food goo on his plate, the soft white bandage on his index finger rubbing against the silver of the spoon. He had gotten the injury while helping Hunk and Lance make the rations. Initially, they had an assembly line of Keith cubing the fruit, then sliding it over to Lance, who would place it in a sealable silver pack and label it. The pack would be handed to Hunk to be thrown in the dehydrator for five minutes, the majority of the moisture being swiftly removed and the pack being vacuum-sealed.

However, when Keith proved to be absolute shit at delicately scoring small objects and ended up cutting the end of his finger, Lance and Keith switched tasks. Growing up the middle child in his ‘big-assed family’ meant Lance had to help prepare meals frequently, so naturally he would be handy with kitchen cutlery. He went on to talk about a number of incidents that happened over the years in his family’s kitchen or at the dining table, or at neighborhood potlucks Lance’s family hosted. Keith got the impression that Lance’s family spent a lot of time eating with each other, and that he thought fondly of those memories (if you went by the warm look on his face when he talked about it).

Keith had also learned some things he didn’t know about Hunk while they were working the assembly line. Apparently, he and Lance were neighbors; he had two moms who owned a flower shop, which led to Hunk talking about how he gathered some of the flowers from the moon, putting them in a cryo-storage container to bring home to them. He hoped that they would still glow if they were kept properly. One of his moms came from a line of bakers, which is where Hunk got his skills from; his mom’s dishes were always a hit at the neighborhood potlucks.

He felt strangely content while listening to Hunk and Lance’s stories; he used to feel incredibly left out whenever Hunk and Lance (and sometimes even Pidge) would start recounting to the others something that had happened at the Garrison, laughing and interrupting each other in an attempt to convey the ‘definitive’ version of the story. He realized how foolish this was, how it bordered on jealousy and wasn’t doing him any favors. It didn’t stop it from happening.

It almost reminded him of his Garrison days, when his role as ‘star pilot’ was facilitated by his keen instincts and quick reflexes, the skills that had so often been lauded by his instructors and envied by his classmates, the skills that had perpetually put an invisible yet seemingly-impenetrable wall between him and everyone else. People either felt intimidated by Keith or hated his guts, and Keith’s subpar social skills did nothing to help this fact. Here among his team, his feeling of isolation wasn’t real as it was at the Garrison; he had a definite role and, over time, a very real sense of belonging.

As time progressed and he got closer to the trio and could perhaps even call them his friends, as they began to share experiences together, that feeling – that alienation from the other paladins – all but went away. He was really a part of something here.

Keith looked at his bandage and smiled slightly to himself.

“Thanks for getting up early, Hunk, Lance, to make the emergency rations,” Keith looked up to what Shiro was currently saying from his place at the table. “No prob, Shiro,” Lance responded from beside Keith.

“Keith helped, too,” Lance said, jerking a thumb in his direction.

“Oh, that’s great. Thanks, Keith,” Shiro added, looking at him with a smile. Keith nodded. He didn’t really feel the need to be thanked, he was just doing his part. Sort of.

Pidge, forever the last to breakfast, entered just then, groggily making her way to her chair across from Keith. Hunk had already made her place setting ahead of time, fully aware of her morning habits. He had also pre-made a cup of some strange, grain-based drink for her. It was supposedly a coffee replacement, but everyone knew it was a poor substitute and only Pidge and Shiro were desperate enough to drink it on a regular basis. She silently sat down, immediately taking a drink, the steam obscuring bleary eyes that slowly blinked behind fogged glasses.

As soon as she sat the cup down, Shiro piped up from his place near Allura.

“Now that everyone is here,” he started with consideration, “As you all know, we’re still in the plant moon’s solar system. Although we initially stayed put just in case we needed more quintessence plant samples, we’ve decided to remain longer because of the system’s out of the way location,”

Allura nodded in agreement, hands clasped in front of her. “Since we will not have to worry as much about any Galra ships finding us, this will be a most excellent time for Shiro, Coran and I to plan the next leg of our diplomatic tour. We’re going to be attempting relations with quite a few important planets, so we need to start contacting ambassadors and re-establishing connections,”

“Altea was a friend of many in the old days! We should certainly be able to continue that tradition,” Coran added from near the end of the table.

None of the younger paladins said anything, perhaps wondering where their elders were going with this. Shiro seemed to sense the need for clarification.

“I’m going to be really busy with this, so I’m not going to be able to train with you guys for the next week or so,”

At this, Pidge subtly straightened up, her eyes suddenly clear of any traces of remaining sleepiness. She seemed to have a slight smile on her face, like her entire day was made with just that one single sentence. Keith knew she hated training; she would escape to her lab or even to common area as soon as feasible. She was fully aware that she had a disadvantage when it came to hand-to-hand combat, but she apparently had enough confidence in her alternative, technological methods of battle to not care about devoting an extreme amount of attention to it.

“So does this mean no training for a while?” Hunk’s voice had a hopeful quality to it, seemingly mirroring Pidge’s train of thought.

Allura shook her head. “Of course not. Defenders of the universe must consistently keep in prime shape. Even a few days of slacking can be detrimental to your performance,”

Pidge slumped again sullenly.

“So, it’s going to be training solo-style for a bit. Everyone on board with that?” Shiro said with all the politeness in the world, as if any of them really had a say in it. It was clear, however, what the answer Shiro expected was.

“I think we got it,” Lance spoke up for all of them, although he didn’t seem particularly affected by the announcement one way or another.

Shiro nodded, satisfied.

After that, the normal flow of conversation resumed, although Keith remained silent, still thinking about that morning. He supposed he was brooding, as Lance might put it.

“What happened to your finger?”

Keith glanced up in front of him, where Pidge was looking at his bandage with mild interest. Keith automatically touched it with his other hand, that strange subconscious gesture that everyone exhibited at some time or another.

“Cut myself earlier,” he said, shrugging.

“Yeah,” Lance butt in from beside him, leaning forward on an elbow to address Pidge, never considerate of Keith’s personal space. “Turns out the one place I’m actually better with a knife than Keith is in the kitchen,” he said with that stupid smirk of his. Keith rolled his eyes, too distracted to come up with a good response at the moment. Pidge raised an eyebrow, perhaps at Keith’s silence, perhaps at Lance’s general dumbassery, but evidently accepted the response she received.

Keith glanced at Lance, who was inspecting _him_ , out of the corner of his eye.

When he had sliced his finger, Keith insisted it wasn’t a big deal, and it _wasn’t_. Did no one know how many times Keith had gotten cut, stabbed, scraped, burned, even before he hurtled out into the depths of space? The desert is a sharp, burny, scratchy place. Lance would have a fucking _fit_ if he had to live out there – Keith could only imagine the plentiful complaints about parched, cracked skin and distinct lack of those weird, slimy lotion products Lance was so fond of.

But, still, not a big deal. Of course, Hunk _made_ a big deal out of the injury, fussing over Keith per the usual, and then Lance insisted on taking his ass to the infirmary to get it wrapped up.

“Can’t have ya leaking your gross blood all over our rations, _Keith_ ,” he had said as he near literally dragged Keith down the hall. His tone spoke of long-suffering irritation, but the gentleness in the way he (completely unnecessarily, Keith _could_ do it himself) applied the antibacterial cream and wrapped the bandage up around Keith’s finger said otherwise. Keith knew Lance was a naturally caring person when he wasn’t being a pseudo-dick, but it still didn’t explain the completely ridiculous, frivolous fluttering in Keith’s stomach. While Lance had stood not six inches in front of him, intently focused on his task and completely oblivious to the suffering boy in front of him, Keith was getting serious flashbacks to the day on the plant moon. Did Lance have no concept of personal space? Why did his entire look change when he was actually serious for once?

Why the fuck?

_Why the fuck?_

Fine! Keith got it! Lance was one hot son of a bitch. So what? Couldn’t Keith focus on something _else_ whenever he was within even the _general_ vicinity of said bastard?

So, yeah, Keith was brooding over breakfast. Probably why Lance was giving him that weird look right then, but why wouldn’t Lance be used to it by now? After a second that felt like a minute to Keith, Lance went back to his breakfast as if nothing had happened.

And nothing _had_ happened. Just a paladin looking out for a paladin.

Probably?

Keith looked back down at his breakfast, too.

* * *

Okay, so.

The night of the plant-moon fiasco, all those days ago, Keith had decided it was _okay_ if he thought Lance was attractive. And it’s still fine, fine, still perfectly fine. Totally normal. It made things a bit harder, was maybe even a _slight_ distraction during day-to-day life, but other than that it was, like he said, fine, fine, perfectly fine. He didn’t know _why_ he was getting so worked up over this, didn’t know why it was _so easy_ to focus on Lance’s long legs, or his smile that would light up a room (however clichéd that may be).

It was just… hard not to. Now, anyway.

When Keith had first met Lance, ten weeks, ten months, ten hundred years ago, Keith was focused on nothing except Shiro, that one rock he had found in the swirling vortex that was his life, the only thing that really mattered to him. Lance had known Keith by name, but Keith… Keith couldn’t have pointed out the Lance McClain in a line of two. Keith, even if he had wanted to, could never get close to anyone at the Garrison, and so the souls surrounding him became a blur, a generic patchwork of faces with names attached to them. Names Keith never cared to learn. There was only Shiro, his mentor, the vaunted idol of every aspiring pilot in the academy. His was a face you never forgot, a presence you noticed before every other in the room. Between Shiro and Iverson, only one truly commanded the respect of a room.

So, Keith can be excused for not recognizing Lance, however much that probably bruised Lance’s tenuous ego. Especially when you consider that, after many months of living with him, Keith finally remembered Lance From The Galaxy Garrison, who was neck and neck with Keith, who probably passed him in the sterile, industrial halls a thousand times, who took his spot after he was expelled.

They had been sitting in the common area today. Which was normal in itself. Pidge was making some obscene joke, another common occurrence – she had _no shame and a very dirty mind_. To Keith’s immense surprise, Lance laughed like hell at this. It was a rarity when Pidge’s and Lance’s senses of humor overlapped, but apparently sex jokes just happened to be the center of this particular Venn diagram.

However.

_However._

Pidge’s one-liner was forgotten when Keith rode a wild wave of déjà vu. It had finally, finally clicked in the worst possible fashion, left him stilled at the unexpected _flash_ of the memory in his mind’s eye. Keith had heard that laugh before, heard it penetrate through the cacophony of the mess hall one particularly lonely day.

When Keith had heard it the first time, it had pulled a completely involuntary laugh out of him. It was automatic to laugh, too, when you heard it. It was compelling, joyful, contagious. Keith had wondered just _who_ it had belonged to, had taken a glance around, wondering who would pull this response from him. Wondered how it raised his spirits, wondered if he’d ever hear it again.

He had wanted to. Then today, he had. It was almost scary, in a twisted way, to know that _Lance_ was the owner of that compelling laugh, the one that made him sound like he was dying for breath, like he was laughing for the entire damn world.

It had taken a surprising amount of will power to act normal given this revelation– Keith’s reasoning, however, was two-fold.

First. He was not going to admit to that chicken shit that _yes_ , _Lance_ , _I remember your ass,_ especially after all this time. It would give him far too much satisfaction for Keith to deal with effectively.

Second. He was not going to admit to _himself_ that said chicken shit’s laugh gave him a very real, very warm feeling in his chest, because that would be like admitting defeat, like letting your enemy push your front line farther back, like asking your executioner to move up the date of your neck’s appointment with the old axe.

So, this all led to the unavoidable conclusion that Keith was having a _very_ hard time keeping his… crush purely superficial. No, he wasn’t just admiring Lance’s looks, now he was coming to appreciate every stupid little _trait_ that made Lance Lance. It was horrific.

Keith had never had feelings for someone before. Had never been _friends_ with someone before, unless you counted Shiro.

Was it possible to go, so incredibly quickly, from having a dumbass, superficial crush on someone to actually, truly liking them?

It didn’t really matter what the answer was.

It was about to happen anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://www.the-izzie-chan.tumblr.com)  
>  So! I have arrived two years late to the fandom... with a fic.  
> I've read _so_ many amazing klance fics, however, that I had to contribute _something_. So, this is the product: as a native of Texas, I took Texan!Keith and ran with it.  
>  Any comments are lovely, so send me all your keyboard smashes, emojis, whatever!  
> And thank you for reading, you're all amazing! <333


	2. Black Body Radiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is nocturnal? Boys spend time together at 2 AM

#  **I Fall in the Dark _(your love lights the way)_**

##  **Part Two:  
**

**_“Blackbody Radiation: Your Soul Shines in the Dark”_ **

 

And when I tried it  
  
I could see you fall  
  
And I decided  
  
It’s not a trip at all

 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ｡･:*:･ﾟ: ﾟ☆:･*:･ﾟ✧  


So.

Sleep was a scarce commodity on the castle.

Keith knew this first hand. Considering that he was currently traversing the length of a dark hallway well past two hundred hours, castle time, six hundred Earth time, he thought that was a fair statement to make.

Now, he only knew Earth time because Hunk and Pidge had quickly calibrated the clocks on the castle to also synchronize with their old time zone back at the Garrison. Why they had all insisted on this custom was beyond him. Perhaps it was a way to keep themselves grounded in the nebulous, stretching and twisting relativity of space. Perhaps it was a way to keep Pidge and Hunk and Lance’s home close. Perhaps it was just simple sentimentality that prompted them to do so.

The hallway was also cold, unlike in the mornings, and oh so quiet. The only company he had was his own soft breathing, and he dared not even to make a sound with the soles of his boots. It made Keith feel formless, like a ghost haunting the ancient halls, only present because _something_ detained him there on the castle. He never knew what that was exactly, but when he sat at the breakfast table with his friends the following morning, he always remembered.

These hallway treks were undertaken after Keith had given up on training for the day – it filled the time before Keith became tired enough to lie down, but it didn’t give him a chance to think. He simply existed, allowed himself to forget about his obligations and responsibilities for a short while. Keith literally lived for those responsibilities, of course, but he felt it was healthy to just _be_ for some small amount of time. In many ways it was similar to Shiro’s daily meditation session, albeit more active. Keith could never find it within himself to sit still for long periods.

This probably tied in with the fact that Keith had never been able to pull a ten-hour night, had never been able to spend even a third of his life lying in bed; it went against his nature. At some point in his life, Keith had lost that ability to remain passive when he had the option to _do something_ . Perhaps it was a result of being shuffled around from home to home, his own desires and wants rarely considered. He had no control over his own life at that time, so maybe he tried to enact control over all the the things about himself that he _could_ , and it stuck.

It was also the silence of the castle late at night that Keith enjoyed. Perhaps it was less the silence itself, and more so the lack of people. For most of his life, even if he was physically surrounded by people, he was truly and completely alone. Isolation was a treat for Keith, a comfortable, familiar state of being that he reveled in.

Or at least, it had been…

The castle at this time of night wasn’t always Keith’s solitary domain: _Everyone_ knew first hand that sleep was a precious rarity, like religion in a fascist society, like plant growth in a mountain’s rain shadow, like love in a shallowly uncaring world.

Keith stepped through the residence hall, quiet enough that he could hear someone shuffling about in their room… it might have been Pidge. She lived off fiery rage and diehard enthusiasm for tech-related work of any sort, so it made sense that she refused to keep normal active hours – she was far too busy.

Keith often found her in the lab, incessantly tapping away at her laptop. Did she ever actually sleep? Or did she just plug herself into the internet and offload her consciousness into the mainframe for a few hours every night? Keith realistically knew she had to sleep, knew Hunk to come in at ass o’ clock and rouse Pidge from her code-induced trance so she could stumble to bed for a precious few hours of shuteye. _She’s_ technically _still growing_ , Hunk had said to Keith one night after she had left. _She’s only fifteen, after all_ . And they both knew she had an understandably burning desire to be _helpful_ , wanted to update this and fix that and make life _easier_ on them all. Stay one step ahead of the Galra, of whatever electrical disasters were looming over them at any given point in the ancient castle. Keith could understand that.

As a result, she stayed up.

Of course, Hunk had to be up as well to press Pidge to get some sleep. Although Pidge always seemed to stay up the latest out of them all (perhaps even Keith), it was a frequent occurrence that Hunk would stay up as well like a good-natured hypocrite, tinkering with this, drawing up some vaguely comprehensible CAD models that only he, and probably Coran and Pidge,  fully understood. Other times he would secrete himself in the kitchen, experimenting with oddball ingredients, icing strange cookies with a sharp eye and a practiced steadiness from years of handling soldering irons, applying heat sink compound, or manipulating deceivingly delicate brambles of wire without shocking himself or stabbing the calloused skin on his fingers. When questioned about his habits, Hunk simply said he worked better at night, when there were fewer distractions. He had said his mother was like that, as well.

Hunk occasionally worked with Pidge overnight, Hunk building some project, Pidge maybe writing the code to make said project actually work. In that way, they communicated in a sort of electrical-engineering pidgin, the field they were both comfortable in even though Hunk was more of a mechanical-engineering guy and Pidge was focused more on abstractions, algorithms, and unintelligible things like automata theory – the computerized, digital half of electrical-engineering.

It was a partnership that worked well, and if it weren’t for those two and their late nights, the castle would malfunction far more often than it actually did.

Though it would’ve been nice, Keith supposed, if Hunk had a mechanical-engineering-minded companion in his work, but the similarly good-natured Coran was potentially the only person on the ship who got any significant amount of sleep; he went to bed and rose early and frequently said he ‘slept like a well-fed nuzark in its ritualistic twenty-year hibernation period’. If so, it explained his limitless verve.

But how come his cheery declaration sounded forced?

Now Allura, despite also being Altean, was almost the complete opposite of Coran. She was perpetually up late, filled with the tormenting dread that late nights have the unique ability of pulling out of people. So, she would take sleep-inducers when it got too bad, when she knew she needed to be at her mental peak to lead the rest of them, when the reprieve of unconsciousness was a preferable alternative to the cold-sweat-inducing horrors of reality. She very rarely left her large, empty quarters once she entered them for the night; the only reason Keith knew of her troubles was from overhearing a conversation between Shiro and her: Allura was offering him some sleep-inducers as well.

Shiro graciously declined, and Keith instantly knew why – getting to sleep wasn’t the problem; it was sleeping through the nightmares and PTSD-induced visions laced through the night that caused trouble. Fitful and restless sleep wasn’t real, wasn’t worth _shit_ and the purplish circles under Shiro’s gray eyes lent credence to that fact. It always hurt Keith to see Shiro like that – he was too young to have such great burdens. But weren’t they all?

At Shiro’s refusal, Allura simply nodded somberly. Maybe she understood too.

So:

In all of Keith’s nocturnal hours spent at the training deck or wandering around the cold and lonely halls, he ran into everyone at one point or another, even Allura rarely – sometimes there would be just a weary ‘hey’ while passing by in the halls, like so many times with Shiro. Other times, he would run into Pidge, who was heading either to or from her lab. Sometimes, when she wasn’t working with Hunk (which was the norm, as she truly did work best alone), she would invite Keith to keep her company in the lab, that room of odd-colored computer screen lighting, that perfect example of organized chaos. It happened rarely enough that Keith would never decline her offer - how could he deny someone, who willingly spent so much time alone, the occasional comfort of companionship? It wasn’t that Keith didn’t like Pidge’s company – they had something of a mutual understanding, both had insatiable drives and harsh logic hardwired into their brains, both had the capability to be vicious and cold-hearted. Both could easily, yet somewhat inaccurately, be labeled as loners, the characteristic that most effectively yet ironically tied them together.

So:

No one on this ship slept through the night (or what passed for it in the depths of space, far away from the regular, twisting patterns of binary stars and glowing ionized gasses, far away from natural, dopamine-producing light, far away from any regularly orbiting planet), that Keith knew of.

Except for Coran, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Lance.

So:

Bearing all _this_ in mind – all the winding thought processes, all the spinning, clashing jolts of memories and ideas and sleep-deprived, almost hallucinogenic imagery that occasionally marked his vertical-ambulatory-meditations when his anxiety was as bad as it was tonight…

Keith could very easily justify his absolute shock at reaching the end of the hall that spilled out into the common area, and finding – out of _all_ the people on this ship – that very boy. Keith could very well be forgiven for the slight pause he took while deciding whether to flee for whence he came, or to quickly pass through the room to merciful escape into the opposite corridor.

Unfortunately, Keith chose to press forward, because for Lance to be out here, awake and alive and _not in his bed_? Something was amiss.

Now, this was the unfortunate choice because Keith had been… pretty effectively avoiding Lance.

…for a couple of days, by then.

The lack of structured group training as Shiro and Allura regrouped made it very easy to do so, to focus inward on his concerns and anxieties relating to his newfound awareness of Lance while simultaneously avoiding the problem altogether. Keith was quite skilled at that – for unimportant, trivial matters such as this, such as _feelings_ , Keith could ruminate, ponder, and come up with nothing because he kept running in mental circles. For things like battles, it was almost the opposite. It was like he was programmed to do it, one of Pidge’s algorithms designed to do one thing.

Fight.

Survive.

Win.

But feelings? Shove them in the back, on ice, melting and pooling in the stupidest part of his brain. Sometimes there would be so much pooling that he would drown in it. Keith had felt that way for the past few days, so he locked up the mental shed with a heavy brass bolt and willed it to stay put. It didn’t work.

All he had running through his mind this week was an amalgamation of abstract, feverish concepts, pointless to-do lists, and those damn pooling emotions. That was probably what  confused Keith the most, out of all of this. It seemed so simple – just _forget_ about his feelings. Just ignore them, keep that bolt locked tight, focus on real life. It was _simpler_ that way. Nevertheless, it consumed his life, took up a good portion of his mental capacity, made him get sick with anxiety. His current lack of structure and routine was compounding the issue. Despite – or perhaps due to – his irregular upbringing, the times when he didn’t know where he was going to sleep, he thrived on routine. Like a mathematic, musical pattern that gave him balance and purpose.

Wasn’t liking someone supposed to be nice? Supposed to make you feel… good? Somehow? Keith had never consumed media of the romantic sort, or had any experience with relationships. Friendship, or whatever he had with the other occupants of this ship, was treacherous waters enough. The last fucking thing he needed was whatever you would call this. This, this _obsession_ that was as one-sided as Keith and Lance’s old ‘rivalry’. _What was wrong with him?_ That was the million-dollar question…

Just then, Keith shifted slightly from his position at the precipice of the darkened room. Lance lifted his gaze from whatever he was holding, only to narrow his eyes when he saw the originator of the noise. He turned back to whatever he was looking at, his shoulders hunching inward.

Keith winced internally. He supposed he deserved that.

He knew Lance thrived on attention, knew he hated being alone. Growing up with a thousand relatives probably ensured that he was going to despise being excluded, given that he was probably never ignored once, always had _someone_ to interact with.

So yeah, Keith could admit that he was a dick for indirectly taking his shortcomings out on Lance, and especially in the _one_ way that Keith knew Lance would hate the most. Giving him the cold shoulder was probably the worst way Keith could’ve dealt with it. However, isolating himself was the _best_ way Keith could have thought of to deal with his emotions – it used to make him feel less stressed, more at ease when he could hide out by himself for a while. It didn’t work this time, and Keith didn’t know why.

He had to fix this.

Sighing quietly, Keith geared himself up to move forward and sit on the unyielding couch as far away from Lance as possible. It was still, and dark, just like in the hallway, but it wasn’t calming now.

It was common knowledge that Keith was not good with The Words. This was well known. But this was an especially rough time for him, considering he had two equally poor options – apologize, or pretend like nothing happened.  He couldn’t pretend nothing happened, because it was obvious that Lance was pissed, and… something _did_ happen. But he also didn’t feel like apologizing because he didn’t do anything wrong per se; just because he didn’t talk to Lance for _a_ _while_ and actively avoided him and _kind of_ ignored him even after their progress as friends didn’t _mean_ he was in the wrong.

Keith sighed again.

Okay, fine. He screwed up.

Not for the first time.

Or the last.

Frowning, Keith glanced over at the boy next to him, who was staunchly focused on his Altean datapad, tapping away at something that Keith couldn’t see. The amber light illuminated his face, creating soft shadows on his cheekbones and making his eyes seem more ocean-green than blue. It was still dark, and Keith was quite a ways away, so he couldn’t see the smattering of freckles he knew was there.

For some reason, covertly scrutinizing Lance’s face calmed Keith down enough to press forward. He breathed in and out, then threw the words out before the silence became any more stifling.

“So,” he started, the words piercing through the silence, vibrating the still air molecules, shooting and bouncing against reflective walls and giving them no place to hide, to be absorbed forever.  “Lance, I really… I mean- shit,”

Six words so far and he hadn’t said a thing. Lance was still ignoring him with incredible resolution. Keith clenched his fists in irritation, then started over, trying a different tack.

“Sorry,” he mumbled over the barely-audible hum of the life support system. Predictably, Lance couldn’t shut up for very long, although he still had that sulky look on his face as he stared at the screen.

“Oh, I see you’ve finally chosen to acknowledge my existence. To what do I owe this high honor and distinction?” his voice, heavily laced in bitter sarcasm, was loud in the quiet of the common room. Keith frowned, but secretly felt relief – Lance actually speaking to him meant he was probably off the hook. Keith knew Lance wasn’t one to hold a grudge for very long.

“I know I screwed up, okay? Not the first time in my life,” Or the last. “I just…” he supposed he owed Lance an explanation, but he didn’t know exactly how to word it.

_I had a meltdown when I realized how hot you were._

_I had_ another _meltdown when I made that pathetic descent into having a crush_.

_Don’t worry, I’m better now. I decided to just shove my feelings deep down. Works great! Buddies?_

Keith grimaced.

“I was just working through some stuff,” he said, trying to convey sincerity with each carefully chosen word. “It had nothing to do with you,” Something like a lie, but an acceptable one. At this, Lance finally looked him in the eye, the light from the tablet casting dancing shadows over his face. He saw the upturn of Lance’s eyebrows and felt a pang of remorse. It was almost like when he disappoints Shiro, but not quite as bad, thankfully. Even though Lance was clearly still offended, yet another emotion surfaced – concern? His eyebrows furrowed, the line of his mouth twisted, and his eyes roved over Keith’s face. Lance opened and closed his mouth before trying again.

“Is everything okay?”

Is everything okay.

_Is everything okay?_

_That_ ’s what Lance asks Keith?

Shit. Lance had been treated horribly, had been treated like _shit_ and now he was offering support despite everything? Keith hunched over a bit more, his elbows digging into his knees. Lance was too… too selfless. Like, he was always trying to bring the mood up during those dinners where everyone was too tired and sore from a day’s worth of training to exert any effort in good conversation. He would do things that would seem annoying at face value, like bugging Pidge in her lab (when she had been working alone too long), or whining about being starving (so Hunk could use him as a guinea pig for his new creations when all the others were too scared to do so), or even flirting with Allura light-heartedly (when she was too stressed with all her duties, so she could laugh for once, so he could lighten her burdens for _just one second_ ).

“I’m alright, now…” Keith said slowly.  “Aren’t you… aren’t you mad?” Keith glanced over at Lance through his bangs, hating how childish he sounded, like when he stole from a run-down thrift shop on Main Street when he was nine and he was being scolded by his caretaker.

Lance crossed his arms, the initially open expression replaced with his normal half-annoyed, half-amused one. It seemed off.

“Yeah, well,” he said, turning away from Keith. “Shiro seemed bothered the other day by the ‘distinct lack of communication’ between you and me, and I don’t wanna bother him. So, I forgive you. For Shiro’s sake,” he added, that all-important excuse for his caring behavior.

Lance and Keith were similar in that way – always putting up walls to hide behind when things got too… much. Too much, and Lance would hide his insecurities behind his cocky sharpshooter persona. Too much, and Keith would hide his anxieties behind an air of determined indifference.

He had always been like that, for many, many years: if he just stayed quiet, the other, bigger kids wouldn’t pick on him. If he would give those vulture-like people that filled the darkened back alleys careless looks, they wouldn’t try and mug him. If he would ignore the other students, they would leave him to do his best.

“Alright. For Shiro,” he said, sticking his hand out to lance. Lance appraised the offer for a second before scooting over, meshing his own hand with Keith’s and holding it up between them, some weird bro-shake he probably picked up from his ‘cool’ older cousins or something. Keith accepted it for what it was.  He was really just happy to have gotten over this whole mess.

Lance and Keith, friends again, Keith’s stupid-ass crush not quite stamped out on the wooden floors of the old shack in the back of his mind. Not gone, but could be converted into another form that was more easily manageable, like a flame reduced to embers. Yeah, he could do this. No problem.

But of course, his mouth ran before his brain could keep up.

“What are you doing up this late, anyways?” he asked. “Don’t you need, like, twelve hours of sleep?”

Lance blinked in surprise, then rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “No, asshole,” He got quieter. “Just… don’t need as much sleep when we’re not training,”

“I thought we _were_ training!” Keith cried, instantly distracted and leaning forward. “I’m in there every day!”

“And has Allura asked you about it?” Lance tilted his head, as if listening intently for an answer he already knows.

“Well, no, but-“

“See? What Allura doesn’t know…” he winked, then turned back to his phone, turning the display on by tapping it twice. Keith huffed, cheeks burning in the darkness. Stupid winking Lance.

A few moments passed, and Keith looked over Lance’s shoulder – they got _really_ close when they shook – in curiosity. Lance glanced at him out of the corner of his eye in mild confusion, but stayed silent. It looked like he was playing a game… Keith actually recognized it – a rarity for someone as out of touch with popular culture as he was.

“Is that Tetris?” He said disbelievingly, leaning back so he wouldn’t be talking directly into Lance’s ear.

“Yeah, dude!” Lance nodded emphatically. “It’s like, this weird Altean equivalent – can you believe they have it in space, too? But it’s in like three dimensions so you have to eye the falling piece and hope it – ah, crap,” he pressed a button rapidly, “…gets in the right slot. Also, the pieces are constantly changing shape so it’s really hard to…” he trailed off, trying to regain his streak. He was rotating the tablet back and forth, a seemingly unnecessary gesture.

Keith huffed in amusement. Tetris was one of the few video games he actually knew of (before meeting Pidge and Lance) and enjoyed – mostly because Shiro played it a few times when he had some rare downtime. Sometimes Keith would watch him play from the hard chair in his office, watch the near-permanent crease in Shiro’s brow smooth out as he let his mind blank and simply focus on the game. Keith smiled at the memory – it was one of the events that truly made Keith feel like he had gotten close to Shiro. He was probably the only person in that wretched, fucked-up military installment who had ever seen Shiro so unguarded, like a regular twenty-three year old rather than an ageless titan who was featured in propaganda posters urging prospective cadets to _look to the stars._ Shiro was secretly uncomfortable with the campaign – he had just wanted to fly.

Just like Keith.

An elbow materialized in his field of vision then, gently bumping him in the ribs. He looked over at Lance with a scowl. Lance had an eyebrow raised, the game paused and screen dimmed.

“Dude, you’re totally zonin’. You sure you’re okay?”

He imagined he had been doing that a lot, lately. Nonetheless, he cleared his throat discreetly. “Yeah, just thinking…”

“Thinking…?” Lance dragged the word out, a question but not really, moreso a choice of whether or not to respond.

Keith crossed his leg and leaned back – he didn’t recall hunching into himself. “Well…” he started, making a split-section decision.  “Like… did you know that Shiro used to play Tetris, too?”

“No shit!” Lance cried, eyes wide with humor.

“Yeah, he actually got pretty good at it. Sometimes I would try, too… I don’t actually remember how good I was at it. Unimportant, I guess,”

Lance leaned back, eyes narrowed, as if he were evaluating Keith. Keith folded his arms, returning Lance’s look with a questioning one.

“The great Keith Kogane… not good at something?”

Keith groaned, lolling his head onto the back of the couch. Leave up to Lance to get distracted in a milli-tick. _I thought we were past this,_ he mumbled, but Keith also knew that he was going to take the obvious bait, so he simply gave in. “I never said that,”

Predictably, Lance shoved the tablet into Keith’s chest with little ceremony. “Then prove it!”

 _There_ was the Lance Keith had come to know and… like. Finally, relief washed over Keith, causing his shoulders to loosen and his breathing to become lighter – a challenging, competitive Lance is a healthy Lance.  So many times, when Keith was first getting to know Lance, he had noticed periods of Lance retracting from the others – he wouldn’t be his joking, lame self, and would become more reserved and quiet. Keith initially enjoyed the silence, the conversations that flowed between the paladins without juvenile interruptions. But Keith hadn’t understood how vital Lance was to strategy during mission plans; how Allura , Hunk, and Coran had seemed to be more depressed, too, during these periods; how Lance was really, truly hurting and sometimes it would take _days_ for him to crawl out of these bouts.

Keith still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened; all he knew was that it was more the homesickness. Or maybe more. Something else entirely. Keith didn’t really know. Seeing Lance like this, now, just cemented how important this was. Keith smiled inwardly, glad that he didn’t run away tonight.

Rolling his eyes for show, Keith grabbed for the game, rather awkwardly considering it was literally right above his crossed arms. Lance resettled next to him, throwing his legs up on the couch carelessly. Keith glanced over, and seeing Lance curled up next to him proved to be too much; he quickly averted his eyes. Tapping the display, he restarted the game, bypassing the translated instructions. He’d fly by the seat of his pants. Immediately, the pieces started twisting and turning, rapidly falling into geometric piles – oh shit, too fast, _too fast_ …

He furrowed his eyebrows at Lance’s silent laughter next to him, and then started tapping on the screen with abandon, hoping it would save his ass from total failure.

“Dude, don’t button-mash, you cheater!” Lance squawked, flapping his hand at Keith.

Keith grinned devilishly at him. “Whatever works, works, right?”

“Well, normally, yeah, but you’re gonna –“

Quiet beeping came from the tablet, causing both Keith and Lance to freeze. Keith turned his head, then groaned – _play over_ , it said in poorly-translated Altean _._ Video games weren’t exactly top-priority for Pidge and Coran’s joint translation efforts, but god forbid that Pidge didn’t make a significant effort to make it at least number two on their (itemized, color-coded) list. Pidge and Coran had loud, amusing arguments that lasted late into the night over the nuances of one particularly esoteric Altean saying, over the true meaning of an English statement, over slight details of technical concepts.

Nonetheless, Keith was almost appalled at his loss. This quick? Some kind of record, he was sure.

Lance laughed then, probably ready to make fun of Keith, and Keith’s first instinct was to grumble, but… it _was_ pretty funny. An epic failure on such a simple game when he had beaten perhaps hundreds of flight sims at the garrison. He snorted softly, his previous anxieties almost dissipated in Lance’s lighthearted company.

“Look,” Lance started then, surprisingly gentle in tone. Keith glanced over at him, their faces only inches apart – he could feel his own heat up from their proximity, but he refused to give in. Lance was focused on the screen, anyway, gesturing and poking buttons, his shoulder knocking into Keith’s.

“You gotta… start at like level one. You were on twenty,”

“That’s where you were?”

“Yup,” Lance popped the word. “Buuuut… I did kinda suck too. At first,”

Keith widened his eyes fractionally. Was Lance trying to console him? He didn’t think about that much, however- Lance was pulling the tablet from his grip, leaning back so Keith could see the screen too, and saying something like _watch and learn_. Keith blinked, clearing his head, and focused on the game.

It turned out that Lance was actually pretty good at this game; of course, he spoke throughout the gameplay. Keith learned that Lance used to play video games with his older siblings, learning tricks and special button sequences to kill more aliens at once or get a speed boost or whatever it is you do in games. It struck Keith that maybe, like Shiro, Lance was doing this to clear his mind, just for a bit, just for a brief reprieve from life in general. Keith followed after him, letting himself fall into their competition, trying to clear lines faster, trying to avoid Lance’s sabotage attempts, trying to steal the tablet from Lance himself.

Unbelievably, or perhaps not, Keith picked up much from their (mostly one-sided) idle chit-chat: abstract paintings of cool sea breeze clouds, burning summer suns that refused to set, skinned knees on hot pavement, shorts even in December, moss on telephone wires, solitary bicycle rides during warm, windy nights. It occurred to Keith that they both had memories they kept close to their hearts, both had gunshot-like flashes of emotion pulled out from the depths of their minds when faced with something vaguely home-shaped.

Keith even told some embarrassing stories about Shiro – it wasn’t hard to make Lance laugh, but it did unfortunate things to his heart to have done so himself. He felt lighter than he had in days. The anxieties, despite being in such proximity to their indirect cause, were wiped away. The time he spent on the couch became a carefree blur in the darkened room.

When they finally decided to pack it up – Keith, intent on being responsible, was the one who suggested it, despite the fun they were having – Lance clicked the tablet off, causing the darkness to eagerly rush in and make it impossible for Keith to see.  He rapidly blinked a few times, like a cat, in a practiced method of improving his night vision – he was used to the freeing darkness of his shack at night, used to the only illumination on dirt roads being from the stars, used to reading long after lights-out in the group home.

“Hey, you better be careful,” Lance said from by the door. Keith blinked again– how was Lance so comfortable quickly maneuvering around this room in the dark? Even Keith wasn’t completely used to the layout of the blackened room, and was forced to half-blindly grope around the sectional as he caught up.

“Yeah,” he belatedly responded. He was developing a bad habit of not responding to people quickly enough…

When he finally reached Lance – he was waiting for him, and Keith was having a hard time not making a big deal out of that – they silently made their way down the hall that was just as dark as it had been earlier; there was just enough enough light for Keith to walk next to Lance without running into him. The hush of the hallway created a natural silence between them, but quiet and Lance rarely kept company, were rarely in the same galaxy quadrant.

_If a tree falls down in a forest, and Lance isn’t there to complain about it, where is this metaphor going?_

Keith crossed his arms, glancing at Lance out of the corner of his eye to gauge his expression. It currently tended towards contemplative, if Keith wasn’t horribly mistaken. Was he still thinking about home? Or was it something else? Keith could never hope to know, as he wasn’t about to ask. Still, what a sharp turn from the mood in the common area.

“Where’re you going, dude?” Lance called, clearly trying to dampen the volume of his voice even though Keith knew damn well nobody in this hall was asleep. Keith realized Lance had stopped behind him almost ten feet ago, and was waiting in front of Keith’s room. He awkwardly half-jogged back, staunchly ignoring Lance’s vaguely amused expression.

Keith stood for a second when he reached him, still trying to parse the change in atmosphere, prodding the aura like a mystic with poor people-skills.

“Thanks. Well, see you tomorrow,” Keith abruptly said with a small, meaningless gesture.  He was never one for drawn out farewells, especially considering that Lance literally lived right across the hall from him. Lance nodded mutely, and Keith ducked his head to type in the code for his room.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance said with uncharacteristic hesitancy. He hadn’t moved yet, apparently.

Keith turned; Lance shuffled his feet; Keith raised his eyebrows in silent questioning; Lance looked away.

“I’m sorry, man, but I gotta ask. You said you were ignoring me because you had some problems you had to work through. And that’s cool, I’m not gonna pry unless you wanna talk about it or something,” he paused then, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets, but then looked Keith in the eye and stood straighter.

“Is there a reason you ignored _me_ in particular?”

Keith’s mouth went dry, but if there was one thing he was good at in all his years in the desert, it was thinking on his feet; he had gotten into too many alleyway scuffles  and encounters with cops who were above the law to not be able to do so. Temporarily ignoring how damned _perceptive_ this boy was, Keith schooled his features into something mask-like and shrugged nonchalantly. The gears in his mind whirred, trying to find a way to word it without flat-out lying to this boy who deserved so much more. Keith refused to deceive for his own selfishness.

Honestly, Keith never really could.

“I withdrew from everyone, Lance. Definitely not just you.”

A truth, not necessarily an answer; less than Lance was owed, all that Keith could give.

Lance nodded for a second, regarding him with a serious expression on his face, and then smiled openly and with understanding. It was as if he had no doubt in his mind the truthfulness of the statement. It made Keith’s heart hurt suddenly, his vagus nerve violently constricting to a very innocuous gesture.

“Alright, cool, cool. See you tomorrow,”

And then Lance was gone, a bright afterimage of green and blue and tan.

And Keith was alone.

And until he fell asleep much, much later, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the smooth ceiling of his room, he would question whether or not he was doing the right thing.

But that was fine.

Keith’s lying through his teeth was acceptable.

Friendship, as he knew intimately, doesn’t come easily.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ｡･:*:･ﾟ: ﾟ☆:･*:･ﾟ✧  


Okay, so.

Keith knew the night prior was a one-off event; yet another aberration during a time when things were heavily off-balance for Keith. He had patched things up between him and Lance, a friendship that had gotten stronger and could bounce back from troubles more easily. Overall, a very productive evening.

Still.

_Still._

The following day had been mindless: solo exercises, meals without Allura or Shiro or even Pidge, who according to Hunk didn’t come to breakfast when she didn’t have to, “which is when Shiro doesn’t make her come”.  Lance came of course, and relations continued to be easy between them, to Keith’s subdued relief.

But Keith knew, during his nightly walk, that he shouldn’t have come out at all that night. There would be no boy to be seen roaming the halls as well, reaching outwards for another insomniac to relate to, to keep each other company during the parts of the night where one is most vulnerable, to make the night as lively as the day. Keith had been spoiled by a single night with him.

So when Keith was inevitably drawn to the common area like a lost soul seeking its purpose, he had to fight off the wave of disappointment when he didn’t find any amber tones beaming around the still room. He bit the inside of his cheek in punishment, angry that he would make a big deal about _this_ as well – he hated how emotional he had been lately. He hated everything about… this. Ironically, selfishly, pathetically, Lance was the only one he knew could make him feel better.

He went to bed early to spite himself, roughly hanging his jacket up on it’s dull metal hook but leaving his shoes on as usual. He frowned at the top of his bunk, deeply disappointed that he wasn’t what others thought he was.

He wasn’t cold, indifferent, ruthlessly logical. He wasn’t a soldier. His priorities were far too skewed.

Still, he only came here to save the universe, his friends, didn’t he? That was his purpose here, wasn’t it?

It was.

But his knife felt hard through his pillow.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ｡･:*:･ﾟ: ﾟ☆:･*:･ﾟ✧  


Pidge flopped down onto the hard floor next to Keith. He drew the juice from the pouch in his hand, idly listening to that unique brand of late-night banter taking place between the younger paladins.

“It’s got the best visuals, and I really like the sort of gray morality they exhibit. You gotta do what you gotta do when you’re out in Space Wild West. Can’t just jet off in your fancy spaceship like everyone else,” she was saying, chest still heaving from where she and Lance were wrestling on the floor. Lance had crawled on his hands and knees to the other side of the room, and when he sat next to Hunk he rubbed his hand petulantly. Pidge had bitten the shit out of him when it looked like he was going to beat her and Keith _did not give her a high-five, nope, nope._

Yes, this was what training devolved to when Shiro or Allura wasn’t there to keep them in line. Only Hunk and Keith managed to get any orthodox training in by doing some simple sparring.

 

Really, the adults should’ve known as much.

Keith blinked, tuning out of the conversation. Did they expect _him_ to keep everyone motivated? Controlling Pidge and Lance is like herding strong-willed cats who want to be literally anywhere but here.  It was a miracle that Keith was able to get them all together in the first place.

Keith did it partially because, well, he was forcing himself to remember what his priorities were. He was a paladin of Voltron, pilot of the Red Lion, teammate and friend of Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. Some good old-fashioned training would serve to cement their friendship.

“Right, Keith?”

Keith looked up at Pidge’s expectant expression. Her face was red, so maybe this less-organized training was still good enough. Exertion is exertion, after all...right? Energy use, muscle-building, balance...

Keith still had no clue why Shiro believed him to be a good leader.

Keith shook his head slightly, trying to be aware and present and all that good stuff, and rewound the conversation as far back as he could remember. Hunk, Lance, and Pidge’s mid-training conversation had dissolved into an evidently well-worn argument about which Star Trek series was the best. The arguments had a rehearsed quality to them, and each seemed to know what the other was going to respond with. Keith could only imagine when the debate was fresh – fiery arguments taking place in the Garrison’s cramped dorms over who was the best captain, internet forum searches completed to prove trivial points, all in the name of good-natured banter.

Surprisingly, Keith had his own memories of the show: dimly recalled late nights with his father, the artifacts on the analog television casting strange shadows in the darkened room. It was always cloudy on those nights, making it impossible to watch the skies but still possible to watch the fake ones in the dusty CRT. His father would sit on the old leather couch, cracked and worn from the air’s ceaseless aridity and his continual, self-inflicted poverty. His father would watch the TV; Keith would watch his father, the flickering lights in the darkness highlighting the distant look in his eyes; neither of them would watch the show. Keith honestly wasn’t even sure if it _was_ Star Trek.

“Uh, yeah, the second series, with, uh… the bald guy?” he tried for vagueness as he responded to Pidge, forcibly injecting himself back into reality yet again. “It was just… way too preachy. The crew was pretty much _always_ right,” Keith said, resting his forearms on his knees. Pidge looked vindicated, nodding as if Keith was the expert on really old science fiction TV shows that were somehow still on the air.

Lance, from his spot next to Hunk on the other wall, threw his (suddenly healed and painless) hand out, barely missing Hunk. Hunk gave him a dirty look, scooting over to give Lance his necessary thirty-acre field. After all, aren’t all stories told with broad and meaningless gesticulations?

“Uh, hello?” Lance cried, eyes wide and bright in the harsh overhead lighting. “No, dude! That’s what Star Trek is all about! Being the hero, doing the right thing even when it’s hard and all that jazz,”

“You can’t always be the hero, Lance, it’s unrealistic,” Keith replied with little amusement, otherwise occupied with passing Pidge her own pouch from the collection next to him. She reached for it with little grabby hands.

“I have no interest in realism as we _hurtle through space in a giant castle_ ,” Lance shot back, making an expansive gesture with his arms, as if to highlight exactly where they were. Like Keith had forgotten.

Pidge rolled her eyes, stabbing the pouch with the straw formerly attached to the back. “I think the time to feel any disbelief at our current situation has long passed,”

Hunk crosses his arms, looking at each of them imploringly. “Guys? I’m honestly just wondering why _no one_ likes Voyager? Janeway is such an underrated captain,”

Keith couldn’t help but agree… or perhaps it was simply that he didn’t care enough one way or the other.

“Ooh, yeah, Seven-of-Nine was a real hottie,” Lance waggled his eyebrows.  He looked at Hunk. “Can I change my vote?”

Pidge sucked the last of her juice through her straw with an obnoxiously loud, drawn-out sound.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ｡･:*:･ﾟ: ﾟ☆:･*:･ﾟ✧  


It was late, but at the same time not late at all – that period between late night and early morning that defies universal definition. It was also when, back on Earth, the moon was at its highest, forcing the stars to dim so it could shine more brightly, using stolen light to detract from the other bodies in the sky.

In other words – _too goddamn late_ because he was getting moody again and personifying a small satellite. Of course, that could be because he was _drawing_ said satellite hanging low against the sharp relief of the Davis Mountains, a regular, pale moon turned huge and wheat-yellow by atmospheric diffraction. Keith frowned; he didn’t have the right shade of drab brown-green for the mountain’s highlights.

The dusty little art shop he had  found weeks prior on an ancient trading planet was packed full of pastel chalks and charcoal pencils, needle-sharp lithograph pens, watercolors, strange not-oil paints and even stranger lasers that would turn the color of your paper different colors based on the frequency of the beam. Despite the occasional futuristic oddities found within, it had felt so much like an art store on Earth that Keith half wanted to go fetch Lance so he could breathe in the smell of real graphite pencils.

Despite all this, they hadn’t had that very specific, high-desert brown-green that Keith needed – some things were too Earth-specific, he figured.  But, using some money Allura had given him, he bought up a bunch of paper and pencils and pastels to bring back to his room anyway. The shriveled-up person running the shop gave him a small plastic discount-voucher card in return for his large purchase; Keith pocketed it with the knowledge that he was more than likely never going to return to the planet. He felt a brief surge of euphoria at that – he had finally, inconceivably achieved his goal of hurtling through the stars, never looking behind him, going farther, farther…

One drawback, however minor, was that paper was understandably in short supply in the distinctly treeless space; you can't draw on really thin nebulas. But Keith had longed for the feel of burnished powder on his fingertips, for the satisfaction of having _created_ something tangible. He wanted to create something that couldn’t get wiped out with chance data corruption, something that would age and experience the effects of entropy and would slowly morph into something completely different and more unique than what you had initially produced. It was a collaboration between you and the universe.

So Keith sunk deeper into the couch, his valuable pad of paper resting on his lap. The overhead light, brighter than the previous nights, kept him awake and alert. He didn’t want to screw this piece up; he was hoping to pour out some of this baseless nostalgia he had been harboring for the past couple of days into a drawing, keep it trapped there instead of in his mind. It was therapeutic, meditative.

 _Scritch scratch,_ the pencil dragged across the tooth of the paper, the only sound in the room.

He partially erased the jagged slope of a roof – the perspective was off just a bit…

“Hey, what’cha got there?”

Keith lurched upwards, quickly flipping the pad’s cover over his work and pawing at it so the papers he pulled from the adhesive strip wouldn’t slip out onto the floor.

“Lance? What are you-” his heart was racing as he swiveled on the heel of his boot, sizing up the intruder of his private moment with wide eyes. He felt like Hunk had temporarily possessed him.

Lance held his hands up, that universal gesture of _don’t tackle me, bro_. “Dude, it’s just me,” he said, partially in surprise and partially in an intentionally calming tone. Shiro would adopt the same tone whenever Keith got really pissed off and was liable to do something rash. Keith blinked at his own comparison, then relaxed his shoulders.

“Hey, sorry,” he said, voice hoarse from lack of use. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing up?”

He was legitimately surprised Lance was out of bed; that first night he had said he was only awake because they hadn’t been training that day, hadn’t he?

Lance shrugged easily, hands shoved in the pockets of those _really_ slim-cut jeans. Keith hated himself for focusing on that, and instead stepped aside so Lance could sit down too, a rush of cool air displaced from Lance’s unceremonious collapse.

Keith felt his insides twist up from nerves; it was almost a burning sensation as he battled his immediate instinct to be joyous at Lance’s appearance. He forced himself to be outwardly calm, even though his initial cat-like startle screwed any chances he had at looking unperturbed by Lance’s arrival, and perched on the edge. Keith felt like he was waiting for something.

“Just, y’know, up and around,” Lance said, looking vaguely skittish. Keith racked his brain for what he was responding to, then distantly remembered he literally just asked Lance what he was doing out. Oh.

“Ah,” Keith got out.

_Ah?_

_That’s what I respond with?_ Keith thought bitterly, but Lance seemed to relax at Keith’s noncommittal response.

Why wasn’t he initially relaxed, anyway?

“How about you?” Lance asked, looking at the pad trapped underneath Keith’s forearms with thinly veiled interest. Lance had always been nosy, but surprisingly not as much as Pidge; the youngest Paladin was a surprising gossip and was always in the loop via Allura and those damned mice. And, of course, Hunk couldn’t keep a secret to save his life... Actually, the whole damned bunch was nosy – always up in each other’s business, always giving unwarranted advice on this or their misguided opinion on that. Shiro was especially bad about the latter, but was always, _always_ well meaning.

They all were.

Keith didn’t know what he did, to be allowed to be surrounded by such good fucking people.

“You know I’m always up,” Keith grumbled, dodging the question and looking down at the floor, at the shadows cast by the legs, at the slight sparkle in the floor that gave it depth and interest. There were _many_ interesting, attention-grabbing artifacts to be seen if one looked hard enough.

"Well, I didn’t know that, actually, but okay, _fine_ ," Lance said with a light huff, a caricature of a pout on his face. "Keith, were you drawing?” he said with mocking (or perhaps genuine) interest, “Because I have never, in the time that you have been graced by my presence, seen you do that and I am intensely curious,"

Keith snorted despite himself. Lance was mocking him, but it was a gentle mock. Was that a thing? A gentle mock? Nonetheless, Lance grinned in victory at Keith's response, further reclining into the couch.

Keith smiled, still fighting down the excitement rising up in his chest like carbonation bubbles - he literally saw Lance four hours prior, in the training room. What made these nighttime meetings any different? Keith glanced at Lance, who was now smiling softly at him. The warmth in that expression did unspeakable things to Keith's heart.

 _I want to kiss him_ , came a voice that was far too smitten and idealistic to belong to Keith. The true Keith violently shoved that thought, along with all other related paraphernalia, to the back of what he had recently dubbed the Feelings For Lance Shed.

But Lance was still looking at him, expectant in a restrained way, and the true Keith was perhaps slightly affected by the traitorous voice in his head, because he decided to humor Lance. "I do draw," he said to his lap, a small smile still curving without his consent. "I just haven't had any materials to do so until we went to that trading planet a while back. There was an art store there - I think...,” he added as an afterthought, gripping the pad tighter. "I think you would've liked it. Apparently pencils are a universal constant?"

"Woah," Lance was genuinely, absolutely awestruck. He blinked in wonder, as if this was the most interesting goddamn news he had heard all day.  Keith gave an ironic laugh as he watched him. "I can't believe you're getting excited over number two pencils. What the hell, Lance?" he said, shaking his head.

Lance tilted his head, making a high-pitched contemplative noise that might've been a drawn-out "well" if it was made by a cat trying to speak English. "It's…" he started, shifting closer to Keith as he crossed his legs. It drew his eye, but Keith would be completely lacking in self-awareness if he judged Lance for his inability to sit still for more than twenty seconds.

"It's kinda the small things that are important," he was saying, flapping a hand around, and Keith was already far behind in the conversation. Introspection does not pair well with socialization.

"Like, a tree in your neighborhood that you like a lot, or getting to go to your favorite coffee shop with someone cute, or when it was excursion day at the Garrison. It's little things that make life worth it," he finished with yet another shrug.

"Little things like space pencils?" Keith challenged, an eyebrow raised.

"Like space pencils," Lance affirmed with a righteous nod.

Keith smiled again, a far too frequent occurrence as of late.  Keith wasn’t entirely sure what lance was getting at, but it made sense in a vague way. Keith sure as hell wasn't going to tell him that, though, and instead knocked his shoulder against Lance's, an action somewhat hard to complete on a mushy couch.

"Well, I'll tell you that the next time you want a parade in your honor,"

"You do that, Keith. You do that. Hmph. Maybe I've changed. Maybe I _don't_ want a parade,"

 _You’ve never wanted a parade_ , Keith immediately thought.

But then Keith studied Lance's face, past his chin, pointed upwards in mock snootiness, past his eyelashes that fanned over his cheekbones, past his dark skin. When Keith looked hard enough, _deep enough_ , especially when Lance opened his eyes and gazed back into his, Keith could only think one thing:

_You haven't changed._

_I’ve just been blind._

In the end, after all their conversations about nothing, and despite Lance (surprisingly) not whining to see it, Keith opened up the pad that had been exiled to the other end of the couch during the prior conversations.

"Here," he said, folding it over so Lance could hold it more easily. Lance turned, giving him a questioning look, but Keith made an insistent gesture with it, a nonverbal _take it_. Lance did - take it, that is - with an expression that frighteningly bordered on reverent, like it was his turn to hold the newest member of the family.

The piece wasn't finished, but Keith was relatively satisfied with it so far. He felt nervous, oddly enough, but when he thought more about it he realized that he had never shown anyone his drawings, let alone got caught creating them. They were always so personal, even if they didn't superficially seem so. The pencil became an extension of himself, like his knife, like Lance's rifle. Whatever flowed forth was also his, a unique abstraction of how he viewed his world. Unlike with his knife, however, you could _make_ with a pencil.

It’s infinitely easier to destroy than to create.

But Lance, Lance just took it in, eyes darting over every detail like he was committing it to memory. Glancing up at Keith, his face split into a grin rivaling... Keith wanted to say 'the sun', but he had always been fond of the moon – at first glance it was smooth and perfect, but if you looked closely enough you could see the convolutions and intricacies on it’s surface that gave it depth and complexity; it had mysteries and secrets of its own as it looked upon the earth.

In other words, it was beautiful, just like Lance’s smile (especially when it was directed at _him_ ).

"Keith," Lance breathed out, looking at him in awe. "You can seriously draw. I had no clue, dude!"

Keith shrugged, glancing elsewhere but not really seeing anything at all. “It’s no big deal, I just sketch sometimes,”

Lance shook his head vigorously. “Don’t give me that. Listen,” he said, gingerly handing the piece back to him. Keith folded it up quickly, placing it behind his leg again.

“My sister… have I ever told you about her?” Lance asked, staring up at the ceiling as if it held all the records of his past conversations with Keith. Depending on the extent of Altean technology, it very well may have.

“It depends on which one,” Keith said neutrally.

“Well,” Lance waved his hand dismissively. “Selena is like, the best fucking artist ever. She got accepted to CalArts, like, last year? Probably, I don’t know, relativity is strange. _Anyway_ , she mostly drew figures  and portraits but she was also into this kind of stuff, too… _and_ I kinda passively absorbed some of her knowledge even though _I_ didn’t get any of her art skills, I don’t even know where she got hers _but_ _my point is –”_ he breathed in.

“You’re good, my man,”

Keith blinked at the flat-out compliment and shifted slightly in his seat. He somehow managed to get out a _thanks_ , because he was _very_ close to having a highly internalized fit of some sort. A few quiet moments passed, and Keith was all for redirecting the conversation elsewhere when Lance managed to do it for him, bless him.

“I think you and she would’ve gotten along,”

Keith glanced over at Lance’s thoughtful tone, a lilting that whispered of a thousand chapters of Lance’s life that Keith had no knowledge of, a long back-story that unpacked every nuance in that singular, forlorn sentence. Keith wondered if he’d ever get anything beyond the first and last couple of pages, and then chided himself for thinking in metaphors (and also for their ridiculous, unrealistic content).

“Oh, yeah?” he prompted, an implied invitation for elaboration.

“Yeah. You’re both badass bitches with a vendetta against the world,”

“I do _not_ have a vendetta,” Keith grumbled, more out of habit than anything. Lance gave him a look. Keith sometimes wondered if he practiced these in a mirror.

“You argue about that, but I call you a bitch and you don’t bat an eye?”

Keith snorted softly. “I know you didn’t mean it,” he blinked in consideration, “Also, I’m not even sure if ‘badass bitch’ is an insult or a compliment,”

“Who knows?” Lance said breezily, shooting him one of those deadly smirks, and Keith stared for a beat longer than technically socially acceptable. He refused to blush, he refused, he was not going to –

He had to turn his head because of the heat in his cheeks. He wished the lights weren’t so bright. He wished his skin weren’t so pale, showing every lilac vein and traitorous capillary. He wished Lance wouldn’t look at him like that. He wished Lance _would_ look at him like that. He wished Lance would look at him like that _but only if he meant it._

He _wished_ he could get a _fucking_ _lobotomy_ … god, no… he felt like he had already had one.

“But, yeah. What was strange, though,” Lance continued on, blissfully oblivious to Keith’s panic-filled suffering. He wasn’t watching Keith too closely, thank whomever. “Is that she and I always got along really well. She was – is – only a couple of years older than me, and we were like the middle children of the family, y’know? Even though she’s kinda introverted and I’m not,” he glanced over at Keith.

“…’Though I guess you already knew that, huh,”

Keith raised his eyebrows at Lance’s self-deprecating tone, but said nothing. He was pretty sure there was a point to this conversation? Maybe not. Lance rambled when he was nervous. But why would he be nervous _now_? He was rather anxious when he first came in. But that went away, so…

Shit, _Keith_ was rambling now, internally at least.

“It’s just kinda weird how the dumbest things tie people together,” Lance said.

“It’s not dumb,” Keith blurted, leaning towards Lance with wide eyes. Lance tapped his fingertips against his thighs absently as he waited for Keith to elaborate.

“I just…” Keith sighed, looking down at their knees, dark jeans contrasting with light. Lance’s legs jutted farther off the couch; Keith’s bumped up against the cushioned edge. “What I’m getting at is…”

Keith didn’t know _what_ he was trying to say. He just thought that the ability to relate and bond to someone is important, no matter how it occured.

But Keith wouldn’t know anything about family, would he? Lance does.

“I, nevermind. I don’t know anything,” he got out, shifty under the weight of Lance’s gaze.

“Aw, and I thought we were getting somewhere,” Lance said, voice playfully mocking, obviously making fun of Keith’s _still-infamous-to-this-fucking-day_ ‘bonding moment’ debacle.

“Shut up, Lance!” Keith growled, shoving against Lance’s arm to push him towards contact with the couch.  Lance laughed loudly, swiping his long arm at Keith. What Keith didn’t have in arm length, he made up in strength, and he used that to his full advantage. If the asshole got _just_ a bit further down, he could be suffocated swiftly and quietly in the cushion material. It’d solve a lot of Keith’s problems, at least temporarily.

“Keith! Quit it!” he laughed some more, flailing about. “I’m gonna tell on you!” he cried in imitation of a child. Keith laughed, ready to let the idiot go.

“Oh! Thought we heard someone!”

_“Oof,”_

Keith lost his grip, torso barreling into Lance’s side. They toppled like some half-rate comedy act, like twenty-first century sitcom characters, like the idiots they were and would always be for better or for worse. Lance gave into Keith’s weight, falling backwards with wide eyes; he latched onto Keith’s jacket, yanking them both into a tangled pile on the cold, hard floor. Somehow, Lance ended up with his face pushed into Keith’s upper abdomen, hands gripped around his waist - Keith planted his hands on the floor so he wouldn’t break Lance’s nose, but Keith still refused to open his eyes and see what kind of ridiculous, compromising, _suggestive_ position they found themselves in. He could feel Lance’s calf wrapped around his own thigh, could feel Lance’s slim waist trapped between his knees, and that was more than enough to set his cheeks to _broil_.

“Ow,” Lance drew the word out, roughly yanking Keith out of his ill-timed memory. He opened his eyes quickly, his dark hair thankfully obfuscating his line of sight.

Keith shot up like a prairie dog, literally – _literally_ – leaping off Lance’s supine form. Lance was rubbing his arched back, a groan escaping his lips before he heaved himself up into a sitting position.

“Fuck, dude, you’re _heavy_ ,” he said as Keith leaned forward on his knees, ready to extend a hand outward. Keith chose to ignore the fact that Lance pulled _him_ down in the first place and Keith was supporting all of his own weight himself.       

“Shit, sor-” he started, but Lance was laughing, chuckling, _whatever –_ he was _grinning_ up at Keith like this was something to be expected when you’re half-assed wrestling on a couch with somebody.

Which.

Might actually be a reasonable outcome.

If you gave it any forethought whatsoever.

Lance accepted Keith’s outstretched hand, standing up in front of him and grinning _down_ at him, now.

“Thank you, sir,”

Keith rolled his eyes, dropping Lance’s hand dramatically, then caught movement out of the corner of his vision.

He belatedly turned with the crushing, _soul-sucking_ realization that comes when you suddenly recall that there is an audience to your blatant stupidity. Lance stilled, as well, but immediately loosened up when he saw who it was.

Pidge was standing still in the corridor, brain clearly whirring with a fight-or-flight decision like a small cornered animal. Keith had seen that expression many times, from possums to coyotes staring into headlight beams, and it looked exactly the same on people.

She was hunched over the tangle of cords and clear bags of processors held in her arms, such a sight that Keith barely registered Hunk, her oversized shadow – he, too, had metal parts, clear vials, and packages of dried food goo stuffed in his work-bag, and his mouth was slightly agape.

“You guys… okay? Is this… is this something to be concerned about?” he said, hesitation and unmistakable confusion etched into his features as he glanced at them, then down at Pidge, and back again.

Pidge let her shoulders droop, and rolled her eyes with exaggerated suffering and an amused lilt to her words.

“Let’s go, Hunk. I don’t really care to know what’s happening here,”

She adjusted her payload then stalked off, co-ax cables trailing behind her. Hunk shot one final worried glance at Keith and Lance and scurried off after Pidge, lifting up the cables behind her like a tiny steampunk wedding procession.

“Well, I’m sure _that_ didn’t seem strange at all,” Lance said, his voice a strange concoction of facetiousness laced with humor.

Keith wrenched his gaze from the now-empty corridor, the burning in his cheeks receding in the face of Lance’s cavalier attitude. He suddenly remembered that, yes, there were other people on this ship at this time. The world did not, in actuality, revolve around Lance; did not slingshot out of orbit in his absence; did not respond to him like he was a massive gravity well and they were a small asteroid, continually making a spinning descent until crashing into its orbit, like a Kamikaze-pilot electron in a death spiral towards the nucleus of the atom. No one here was an icy meteor with no self-preservation instincts, outer layer burning off as they rocketed into Lance’s atmosphere, dying to burn up into nothingness just to get one final, closer look at the surface.

See, that was Keith’s thing.

“… Yeah,”

“… Yeah,” Lance reiterated carelessly, stepping back from Keith to stretch with a scandalous grunt. Keith absently glanced at the time stamped on the corner of the blank wall display, the one used to watch boring Altean movies, and physically cringed when the value registered in his dulled, abused mind.

Lance tugged on Keith’s jacket sleeve, startling him slightly. Keith allowed himself to be pulled forwards – but not without questioning. Never without questioning.

“ _I’m_ going to bed. Some of us could actually use beauty sleep,”

Keith scowled at the insult – Lance always has to get a jab in, doesn’t he? Implying that… that…

Keith blinked…

Let himself be pulled forwards…

Implying that…

That… Keith doesn’t need beauty sleep? Or that he _does_ and Lance just worded it poorly? Or was he saying that only some of them _care_ about getting the sleep, suggesting that Keith doesn’t care about his appearance like Lance does?

“Error four-oh-four, Keith’s brain not found,”

Keith blinked, gazing up at Lance from where he was padding next to him, arm still in Lance’s.  He was looking down at him, a fondly amused expression on his face, and had shifted so their arms were more tightly wrapped up in each other. Keith stared at their linked elbows.

“Dude, what’s wrong? Why’re you staring?”

“I’m not,”

An automatic response.  Walls built of cold, hard words.

“Uh huh,”

Keith looked away, most of his processing power devoted to analyzing the precise pressure of Lance’s arm on his, the way their hips infrequently brushed against each other, because Lance could never walk in a straight line to save his life. He hoped Pidge and Hunk didn’t appear again, like nosy apparitions.

“Y’should show ‘Llura,” Lance said, apropos of nothing, completely out of the blue in typical Lance fashion, as he stared in front of them blankly.

Keith looked up at him in confusion, almost tripping over his boots with the quick change in conversation direction. He thought for sure he could walk and talk at the same time.

“Show Allura what?”

“Your drawings?”

More confusion.

“...Why?”

“Oh, I guess you don’t know, sorry. Yeah, apparently Allura used to paint? Back before… everything. She was pretty good at it, too. Even better than you at drawing, probably,” he added, factually rather than offensively.

Lance looked upwards. “At least that’s what Coran tells me. God, I’ve spent way too much time listening to his long-winded anecdotes,”

Keith frowned – he had always thought Coran’s stories were interesting, and he told Lance as much. “Coran really likes you. Always has,”

Lance smiled slightly, almost sadly, lolling his head over to look at Keith.

“I know,” he said, the fondness in his voice barely hidden.  “Pidge and I would call him Uncle Coran just to mess with the guy, but it didn’t really bother him and it kinda…” he circled his free hand in the air pointlessly, “stuck. At least in my head.”

More walking.

More arm quantum-entanglement.

Thoughtful silence.

“... I miss my uncles, and my relatives, yeah. But it’s scary, Keith... my old friends…?”

Lance gave a slight wobbly breath, a far-away, almost dreamy look in his eyes, his sleepiness allowing his mind to go places he wouldn’t normally allow it to. Thoughts like restless horses escaping from the wooden corral in the dead of night, finally freed from their bondage in the pale moonlight, legs stretching out and hooves dully thudding in the silence. Allowed to chase their dreams up grassy hills and to fly up rocky mountainsides like ethereal, floating apparitions, they stare up at the dancing stars but never quite reach, can’t soar like they want to but they always get closer, closer, closer…

Lance looked at him, and Keith saw something breathtakingly, painfully, hauntingly familiar in his eyes.

“I don’t miss them as much as I used to,”

Keith sucked in a breath.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ｡･:*:･ﾟ: ﾟ☆:･*:･ﾟ✧  


“Dad…”

Keith’s father looked up from his crumpled star charts as he sat across from him, the corners torn and frayed with use, the paper yellowed like the sun beaming in through the dusty panes of glass. He was writing something on their squat table, coordinates, Keith was sure, but whether they were for Earth or space was another question entirely.

His father appraised him silently, then folded the paper into a tight roll: a cylinder of space territory, a treasure map for astronomical pirates, a two-dimensional abstraction that couldn’t hope to capture the complexities of the region it symbolized. Apparently it was useful enough.

A long moment passed, an eternity in stretched and warped kid-time, before his father responded.

“What’s amatter, Keith?” he said, quietly, almost resigned, as if he knew this had been coming all along, as if he was simultaneously trying to put it off and get it over with.

Keith glared down at his matte paperboard book, the kind that had lots of paintings of dinosaurs with captions that told you exactly how to pronounce their names.

_Cree-toh-sore-us_

His dad had purchased the book for him years prior, a laughable choice when Keith had read so much more in his informal studies since then. The tall riveted bookshelf in the corner, dust-covered except for the lowest and most reachable shelves, wasn’t there simply for looks.

Keith shifted from his spot on the striped woven rug. At some point in time it had probably been bright and colorful, alternating strips of cream and burgundy, geometric triangles and chevrons that probably took forever to make. It nearly matched the color of the flooring by now.

He kept his gaze lowered, and let the book clatter onto the rug. It opened to the final page.

_Al-am-oh-sore-us_

“I don’t want you to go again, Dad,”

He didn’t. He did. He hated these trips that his father went on, disappearing for days at a time, no contact, nothing for Keith but the knowledge that his father was true to his word. He didn’t know where he went, what he did, and it didn’t matter, did it?

A shuffling from across the table. A shift in weight on creaky floors. A sigh, world-weary and so _tired_ that Keith felt compelled to snap his head up, to see his father running his hand through his short hair. He was gazing out the window, staring beyond the fence, beyond the road, the scraggly treeline, the sharp mountain. Beyond the horizon, so far beyond the oblate spheroid ricocheting through space that some of them called home.

“Well?” Keith pressed, tiny hands balled up to grasp rumpled cargo shorts. Keith’s father uncrossed his legs, standing up and circling the table. Dull thuds from heavy work boots echoed in the mid-morning quiet, all worn and dull brown like their owner’s hair. They were laced tightly but not cleanly, like work done by shaky hands, like work done by a man with no outlet for his anxieties.

His father crouched down closer to eye level. Keith pushed his lips into a wobbly pout, studying the wan face that was studying him back. Broad jaw, three-day-old stubble, thin, chapped lips pulled taut. Wide shoulders that relayed false security, steadiness, and strength. A scarred eyebrow, marred from an event never spoken of.

Those eyes, falsely clear in the light, opaque in a way that hadn’t ever been before.

Those eyes, falsely unwavering, torn between two decisions, wanting and wishing and longing for something Keith couldn’t imagine; something young Keith had no point of reference to relate it to.

Those eyes, terrifying in how close they looked to those which Keith saw in the mirror.

Keith widened his own eyes, and quickly broke contact to stand on unsteady fawn legs. His father must’ve seen something in his eyes, as well, because he set his hand on his shoulder, then righted himself with cracking knees to step across the room.

“Keith, you know I have to go. But don’t worry, okay? About me, or anything. You’re too young. You’re too young for all of this,”

Keith didn’t know what he was saying, knew there was _something_ he was missing but unable to grasp it, like sandstone sediment through spread fingers, like well water trickling back down into the aquifer from whence it came.

Somehow, he knew it _wasn’t_ about his trips, all the times his father went across the line to New Mexico, went further north, or went down south across the border. He thought of how, sometimes, he would look out the window in the middle of the night, with the wind blowing mercilessly and his father staring up at the sky like it had answers, his tears reflected in the cold moonlight.

“Dad…”

His father dragged the tall radio forwards, leaving a trail of dust-free flooring, and pulled a loose ash panel free from the wall. He pulled something out, and like in a dream, he was back in front of Keith within seconds. He held a glinting metallic object, holding it in both hands reverently; it was a religious artifact, an urn of ashes, a memento of something long lost.

“This was your mother’s.”

It was a knife, it’s deep purple clashing with the natural tones of their shack, the dust moats twirling through the air and attaching themselves to it’s surface. It seemed a shame that something so fantastical should/would be exposed to the dullness of their reality, it’s alien eternalness disfigured by the transience of their minute existence.

Keith’s breath hitched. “Mom?” He had never known her, didn’t know if he _wanted_ to know her but he had his dad, his dad had _always_ been there for him so that didn’t matter…. It didn’t matter… right?

His dad would always be there, wouldn’t he?

But then why was his dad giving him that look?

“I’m giving this to you, Keith. Take care of it, and don’t let anyone know that you have it,” He said, giving Keith a subtly pleading look, a question rather than a demand, the product of a man who had been broken long before Keith knew its extent.

Keith furrowed his eyebrows, felt tears pricking the back of his eyes for reasons indiscernible to himself. The superposition of two sine waves, distinct neural oscillation patterns interfering like waves in an otherwise still pond, forming something greater than the constituent parts, auras and emotions melding and blending into each other.

“But it’s yours…” he said, saying _something_ but not really saying anything at all, wanting to say things he didn’t know how to say yet, wishing he had the words to describe his fears. He tried to stand tall, his too-small striped shirt riding up; his father smiled in response, forlorn and haunted, vaguely fond and very ashamed.

“It never really was, Keith,”

And then his father thrust the knife into his hand, forcibly yet gently wrapping Keith’s smaller hand around it.

And then he grabbed his olive-colored canvas duffel.

And then the door opened with a creak, letting in the sound of the wind through the mesquite trees, the golden-yellow sunlight, and the song of the solitary mockingbird, forever alone by his own nature.

And then the door shut, and Keith was alone.

And he would be, for a very long time.

The Orionids came that night, their fiery, fleeting entrance into the atmosphere heralding the beginning of the Southwestern fall, that brief transitory period of change, that continuation of a cycle that has occurred since Earth graduated from proto-planetary status.

They streaked through the sky like Keith’s tears, circular motions and indistinguishable patterns that ruthlessly hid the ever-present Milky Way, the stars that had twinkled since the dawn of time. They selfishly brought all the focus onto them, those astrological drops of ephemeral beauty.

But sometimes, Keith knew, those meteors struck the earth, forming deep craters and scars that would remain far longer than the transient meteorites themselves, creating enduring ramifications that were, perhaps, bound by fate to occur anyway. The continual dance of galaxies. Were they worth the damage they caused?

And then Keith pulled the rough blanket further around his hunched form to try and fail to sleep.

And then his father didn’t come back, and he tried to remember if he had even said that he would.

And then the people came, not many days later, to take Keith away for good.

And Keith was still alone.

And he would be, for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops chapter*  
> *crawls under my rock for another two months*


End file.
